Sacrifice
by bjxmas
Summary: Preseries. This was tough, this dying. Dean always thought when he died it would be quick, in the heat of battle, in a blaze of glory. He never anticipated knowing and waiting, pondering his own imminent demise and what his passing would do to his family.
1. Betrayal

**This is the angst story I started writing the same time I started Valentine, Texas, my 1876 western story. I just couldn't handle all the angst and had to step away for a time. It was actually quite refreshing not having the boys in so much pain. Check out my Valentine story for some good old-fashioned western action, some mystery and a touch of romance. Of course, whenever my Dean angst bunny popped into my head I would come on back and put down a few more angsty moments.**

**The story is set the summer before Sammy leaves for college and covers all the Winchesters' angst. We have Dean physical pain angst and all three experiencing emotional angst as they deal with Dean facing death and Sammy leaving. Whew! No wonder I had to get away for a while. I hope you enjoy. Remember, reviews fuel my angst bunny, and it's a hungry little critter. I think it is trying to devour me on this one! LOL**

Chapter One - Betrayal

The roar of the Impala's engine cut through the late evening's quiet solitude as it pulled into the Winchester's yard and haphazardly screeched to a stop. Sam had arrived home just moments before from a late night study session at the library to find an empty house, but when he heard the commotion he ran out to the front porch to see his brother dismount from the beast and stagger towards the front door.

Sam had never before seen Dean intoxicated. Sure Dean and John both drank, sometimes to excess, but they both could hold their liquor and he had never witnessed either of them drunk to the point of losing their faculties. In their line of work it was a dangerous proposition to be less than fight worthy, you never knew when evil might rear its nasty head and need vanquishing.

"Dean are you drunk?" Sam asked in astonishment.

"One can only hope." Dean paused and cocked his head to the side as if he was listening to his inner voice before he continued, "Nope, don't think so. Hell, I sure gave it the old college try though." Dean gave a high wattage smile as he stumbled past his brother and entered the house. "Guess I better see what the old man has in the fridge. See if I can finish the job."

His feet tripped over the scatter rug at the front entrance and he almost landed face first on the floor, but he caught himself and proceeded to the kitchen leaving his dazed brother in his wake.

"Dean, what's up with you?" Sam followed him into the kitchen and quizzed him as his brother pulled out a long neck, popped the top and started guzzling the beer.

"What's up with me? Better question little brother, what's up with you? Huh? Got any new and exciting news ya wanna share? Planning any long trips? Takin' a vacation?" Dean's smile faltered as a sad, injured look twisted his features and his voice filled with a rumbling fury.

"Dean, what are you talking about? What's wrong with you?" Sam seemed genuinely confused by his brother's sudden hostility.

"Damn, what was that again?" Dean's fingers drummed on the counter, his gaze looking out into space before returning to lock eyes with his kid brother, "Oh yeah, you might wanna erase the message on the answering machine before Dad gets home, or is that how you were planning on telling him? Is that your style Sammy? Let a machine do your dirty work?"

A panicked look passed over Sam's face as he went to the answering machine, staring at the number of messages: one. He looked at his brother's sorry state and returned his gaze to the machine. His finger hesitated, his mind screaming this can't be happening, before hitting the play button:

'**This message is for Sam Winchester. Congratulations on your new life at Stanford. I know you're going to enjoy the next four years and we couldn't be happier to know you will be joining us in the fall. All your acceptance forms have been filed and your off campus housing request has been approved and all the forms and documents have been forwarded on to you. If you need any further assistance please don't hesitate to call. We want to do everything possible to get your new life off on the right track.'**

Sam pushed the delete button and took a deep breath, mustering all his courage, before he turned to face his brother.

"Dean, I'm sorry. I never wanted you to find out like this. Honestly, I was gonna tell you, I just didn't know how." Sam fumbled for the words to lessen the obvious pain his brother was in.

"So _when_ were ya gonna tell me Sammy? Huh? Was I gonna find out when I came home and all your stuff was gone? Is that how you were gonna tell me?" Dean plopped down in their dad's chair staring at his beer bottle as if the label held the secrets of the universe.

"Dean, I'm sorry. But you know I don't belong here, you know I'm not like you and Dad."

"Yeah, you're right about that. You know what makes you stand out, Sammy Boy? You know what makes you special? You're a selfish bastard. Yep, that's it. You look out for yourself, no thought about Dad's needs, no concern for what Dad's spent his whole life doing." Dean's eyes were filled with bitter, absolute hatred, conveying the extent of the pain his words could barely scratch the surface of.

The contempt and resentment he felt for his brother were threatening to overcome his valiant attempts to control his emotions which were spiraling toward unknown territory. He had never in his life considered he could feel such disdain for his own brother, his own flesh and blood.

As devastated as Sam was by his brother's attack and the obvious pain he saw coursing through him, he was not about to back down from the words Dean had just hurled at him.

"Oh, you mean the hunting? You mean the refusal to even consider another way of life? He's got you so mind-washed you don't even consider you could have another life, do you Dean? Don't you get it? You could come with me, you could go to school, you could do something Dean. Don't you want a chance to be someone?"

Sam was pleading with his brother. Pleading for compassion and understanding of how he felt and what he needed, while at the same time pleading for his brother to consider his own possible alternatives.

"Yeah, Sammy I get it. Fighting evil, saving people, that's not good enough for you. Yeah, you've got bigger plans, you're gonna _be _ somebody. Like Dad isn't good enough for you? Like Dad's not somebody?" _Like I'm not somebody?_

Dean looked as hurt as Sam had ever seen him, and he had seen him injured on more occasions then he could even begin to count. He had seen Dean suffer from every kind of physical pain one could possibly imagine and he had also witnessed fleeting glimpses of the hidden hurt his brother felt when Dad inadvertently disappointed him once more, with a thoughtless word or careless action; but never in all his years had he ever witnessed his brother in any pain that came close to the anguish that now bore through his green eyes and burned to the core of his being.

His brave, fearless, paladin of a brother appeared ready to crumble from the despair that was overcoming him. He reminded Sam of a stately pyramid in Egypt that withstood years of pounding storms before at long last suffering the last blistering wind that battered it down to the point where it was perilously close to collapsing unto itself in a heap of broken rock.

In the brief time Dean had been home he had morphed into a shattered man left standing alone in the desolate rubble of his life. Sam's gut tightened with the realization that he had caused the collapse of his hero.

Dean wavered before he composed himself and proceeded with his rant.

"You know Sammy, you're always so big about standing up to Dad. Well how's this standing up to Dad? Sneaking around behind his back, making your grand plans, planning your escape. You just gonna run away from your family? Run off and make another life?" Dean finished off his beer and got up to head to the fridge for another. He slammed the door as he popped the lid and started to down his solace.

"Dean, I don't want to run away from you. I don't want to lose _you_; you're my brother man, that won't ever change."

"Well Sammy, don't count on it. One thing I've learned is things do change, sometimes even when you don't want them to. Sometimes when you slam that door there's no going back." Dean coldly replied to his brother as he stood in the doorway cradling his beer. His eyes exposed the betrayal his heart felt at losing his brother to the outside world.

Sam's pain at seeing his brother's anguish tore at him like no other guilt could. He never wanted to hurt his brother like this. He loved his brother more than anyone in the world; the fact was his brother _was _his world. Dean had practically raised him, but he had to live his own life. He had to get away from Dad and this vendetta he had forced on his family. He just couldn't live like this any longer.

Dean finished off his beer and threw the bottle in the garbage before silently walking past his brother and heading up the stairs to his bedroom. He no longer staggered, but gently swayed side to side as he regained his bearings. Try as he may, his hunter instincts would not allow him to truly get drunk to the point he could really bury his pain. No, this pain would be there for a very long time, he might as well get used to this feeling, this deep burning betrayal.


	2. Normal

Chapter Two – Normal

"Dean, you awake?" Sam gently knocked on his brother's bedroom door and waited for a response that didn't come. He hadn't slept all night replaying the bitter scene from the night before and he just had to set things straight. He never wanted to hurt his brother like this, he just had to make Dean understand, to somehow make it right again.

He slumped to the floor, his back pressed against the door of his brother's bedroom, no longer knowing what he could possibly do to fix this. He was tired, tired of all the Winchesters' turmoil and grief, tired of their lifestyle. He knew he had to escape this life, this vengeance, but still the thought of leaving his brother tore him up inside.

Why couldn't Dean see that? Why couldn't he just try coming with him? Try living another life? Why was Dean so determined to live out this existence that Dad had forced upon them? He just didn't understand him. As close as they were, he had never understood his brother's blind obedience to a father who always seemed to pick battling evil over his own sons.

He was lost. Whenever he needed answers or help, he always turned to his brother. Dean had always been there for him: comforting him, guiding him, teaching him. He really needed his brother to understand and he wanted his brother's blessing. _Man, the chance of getting that now is pretty nonexistent. _

He was scared. It wasn't so easy taking off, leaving everything you've ever known and going halfway across the country to start a new life. As much as he wanted this, as much as he knew he had to leave, it still scared him.

And then he realized the thing that scared him the most was the thought of losing Dean. And then it _really_ hit him. It wasn't just the thought of his brother being out of his life; it was the thought of him not existing anywhere, of Dean dying on one of Dad's hopeless quests.

Yeah, if he was being brutally honest with himself, that was his one true nightmare. If Dean refuses to stop this hunting that one day his luck will run out, and Sam couldn't bear the thought of not being there to save him, even though the truth was, his brother more often than not saved him. He just knew that with their job, sooner or later, someone was going to die, and he couldn't stand the thought that it could be Dean.

"Hey boys, where ya at?" John's booming voice rang out through the house. It was six in the morning and it was unusual for the Winchesters to not be up and about.

Sam wiped the tears that had slowly made their way down his face and solemnly walked down the stairs to greet his returning dad. John had been gone on a hunt for almost a week and they never knew when to expect him home. Normally Dean would have gone with him, but it was a minor job so he had stayed behind to research another gig.

Sam was grateful his dad hadn't come back earlier last night; it had been tough enough facing Dean over that phone call and he really didn't think he could have handled it if they had double-teamed him. Truth be told, he wasn't ready to face his dad on this matter period.

"Where's Dean?"

"Still sleeping, I guess."

"He parked his car in the yard. Does he want the neighbors complaining again? He better repark it before they get up and see it."

"I'll move it." Sam reached for the spare set of keys kept by the front door.

"Dean tie one on last night or what?"

"Yeah. I think he's sleeping it off; he didn't get in 'til late." Sam took the keys and headed out to move his brother's baby. Just the fact that Dean so carelessly parked her attested to his state of mind last night.

John waited until nine o'clock before he stormed up the stairs and banged on Dean's bedroom door.

"Rise and shine soldier, we got work to do." He turned and went back down the stairs to give Sam instructions on what supplies they would need for the job they would leave for by noon.

Dean stumbled from his bed looking like the winner in a frat boy drinking party game. _Man, my head hurts, why did Dad have to come home today of all days?_ He grabbed some jeans and a clean t-shirt before heading down the hall for his salvation. He stepped into the warm embrace of a steaming hot shower and hoped his aching head and nauseous stomach would fade into memory.

Twenty minutes in the shower, alternating between hot and cold, served its purpose as he felt his head clear as much as a churning, mudrucked stream of chaos could clear while turmoil still ran beneath it. _Damn you, Sam._

"Hey Dad, what's the job?" Dean greeted his dad as he slowly descended the stairs and walked into the living room. John sat in his chair looking over some of his notes, but looked up to evaluate the hung over condition of his older son. Dean didn't look ready to run a marathon, but his eyes were fairly clear and his walk was steady enough and John deemed he would be fit for the battle by tonight.

"Werewolves about three hours north of here causing some problems for the locals. I want to get up in time to check out the situation before nightfall. You better eat something; don't know next chance we'll get."

The last thing Dean wanted was food to mess with the delicate balance his stomach now struggled with. His gut was still twisting from all the liquor he consumed the night before. He'd take some granola bars and cheetos for later if he felt up to eating. For now all he needed was some aspirin and coffee, lots of coffee.

Sam came back into the room with a duffle bag filled with Dad's supply order and the brothers locked eyes. They both glared at the other, determined to win in this game of staredown. Sam looked for some sign whether Dean would spill the beans or keep his mouth shut. Sometimes he had a hard time getting a feel for what his brother's actions would be; as soon as he thought he had him figured out, he would go and do something totally out of character.

To say his brother was unique in his attitudes and actions would be an understatement. The only sure bet was he would always follow Dad's orders, other than that, all bets were off.

_Don't sweat it Sammy, ain't no way I'm gonna break Dad's heart. I leave that joy to you. You made this mess, you're responsible for it._

"Dean, would ya watch how you park that car? I don't need the neighbors complaining again." Dad looked up from his papers to chastise his older son.

"Sorry Dad, I'll move her."

"Never mind, Sammy already did."

"Sam don't you go touchin' my car, you hear?" Dean snapped.

"Dean, what's with the attitude? Sam did you a favor. Would you rather I made you get up at six to move it? What's wrong with you?" John looked surprised at his older son's outburst.

"Nothin', Dad. Nothin'."

"OK then. There have been five mauling deaths up state. Sounds like a pack of werewolves. If we get up there by three we can check out the town and get set up for tonight." John explained.

Dean headed back upstairs to pack up a few extra clothes and his own personal weapons. Sam waited a few minutes trying to summon his courage before he followed, debating with himself exactly what he would say once he confronted his brother. As Dean rolled his jeans and stuffed them into his duffle bag, Sam approached and tried to mend their fractured relationship.

"Dean, you gonna tell Dad?"

"No."

"Thanks. I'm gonna tell him, I just don't know how."

"Well Sammy, I'm guessin' that's your problem. After all, if you're gonna be a big important person than I guess you need to know how to problem solve. Huh? Just make an executive decision. Handle the dirty laundry. Just don't pull me into your mess. I'm through protecting you, ya know?"

"What do you mean, protecting me? I don't need you to protect me. I'm eighteen, I'm a man. I have the right to my own life. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to leave you, but I need to live my own life. I need to try being normal."

"Yeah, well normal ain't all it's cracked up to be."

"How would _you _know, Dean? Since when have we ever been even close to normal?"

"Unlike you little brother, I don't _want_ normal."

The frustration of this conversation was beginning to wear on Sam's nerves. He'd been round this bend a time or hundred before with his obstinate brother. He doubted this time would turn out any different; still he had to give it one more try, one last effort, for his brother's sake.

"Dean, haven't you ever considered not hunting?"

"You really want to know Sammy? Huh? You wanna know the truth?"

"Yeah Dean, I do."

"No. That answer your question? I don't think about not hunting, cause I _know_ what's out there and if we don't kill it, who will?" The anger in Dean's voice was threatening, the passion of his beliefs fueling it.

"And what if it _kills_ _you?_ Don't you see Dean? If you don't stop this, you could die. If you don't stop hunting…. you'll be dead before you're thirty." Sam couldn't hide his despair at the prospect.

"Aren't you the optimist?" Dean's sarcasm was biting.

"Dean, I'm serious. Haven't you ever considered you could die because of Dad's vengeance?"

"Well, the reaper comes for us all, don't it brother?"

"Yeah, but no one will even know you were here. Don't you want to leave your mark on this world? Don't you want to be remembered?"

"So that's what this is about Sammy? Fame and recognition?"

"No, that's not what I meant. Don't you want to be missed when you're gone? Don't you want to accomplish something before you go?"

Sam was finding it difficult to express what he was feeling. Words which normally were his allies were not coming together in clear sentences. His meaning was getting twisted.

"See Sam, I thought I _was_ doing something important and I always thought _you'd _miss me when I'm gone. But I guess according to you, I don't know nothin'."

The hurt look in Dean's eyes resurfaced and Sam felt his brother slipping away again, and he still didn't know how to reach him. He had thrown out a life preserver to try to save him, and his stubborn brother had turned and swam away once more, back into the churning ocean.

"Dean, I'm sorry. I just can't stay here and watch you or Dad die for something I don't believe in."

"Well Sammy, I guess if you don't understand by now…, what we're doing, _why_ we're doing it, there ain't nothin' more for me to say…. It's been nice knowin' you bro."

Dean grabbed his bag and brushed past his brother and headed back down to his dad. His eyes glistened with the tears he would be damned if he would let fall. He was not going to let his brother break him. _Go ahead, live your life. I got Dad's back. I can do the job without you. I got it covered._


	3. Attack

Chapter Three - Attack

The drive upstate had been the most miserable ride Sam could ever remember, and he had a considerable number to choose from. Dean drove the Impala with Dad riding shotgun, and he was left to fold his long frame into the cramped back seat. In the past, Dean would have moved the front seat up a bit to give him more room, but he swore the seat had mysteriously moved back a good four inches. He wondered if his vindictive brother was having any trouble reaching the gas pedal.

The cramped accommodations caused the least of his discomfort though as the quiet permeating the stagnant air hung over them like the smog over LA, and all he had to occupy his time were his thoughts and regrets. Damn, for once he would have preferred Dean's heavy metal ruckus to the silence that accompanied them on this journey.

He wondered why Dean hadn't started the music the minute he turned over the engine as he normally did. John didn't mind as long as his son kept the volume down to a reasonable level, after all, the sounds of Dean's life were more the music of his dad's generation anyway. Many of the bands Dean loved were once among his dad's favorites, before John gave up his love of music along with his tapes and all other interests he held in his previous life. The life he led before hunting consumed him.

Sam got the feeling Dad only bristled at the music when a song triggered memories of happier times, memories too painful to revisit knowing they could never be again. Still, here they were riding down the road in silence because on this particular trip Dean had inexplicably not turned on his music.

Sam pondered whether it was a conscious decision or had he simply forgot? Or was his head still too sore from his late night drinking binge? Whatever the reason, he wasn't going to be the one to broach the subject and risk another tirade from his irritated brother. _You're not going to get to me you jerk. I've done everything I can. What more do you want from me? A pint of my blood?_

After three and a half hours of this torment, they pulled into town to check out a couple of the local watering holes to get a feel for what the townsfolk knew about the strange maulings and deaths in the woods outside of town. The brothers took the first bar and John proceeded down the street to the next one.

Dean took the lead as they entered; effortlessly fitting in with the bikers, long haul truckers and local riff raff. He strode up to the bar and took a handful of peanuts.

"Can I help you boys?" A comely barmaid asked, flirting with the handsome young man who caught her eye the minute he entered.

"Yeah, a beer and a sasparilla for my brother." Dean replied with a dazzling smile.

"I'm Stella, you new in town?" She asked as she popped the tops of their bottles and set them on the bar.

"Just passing through. I'm Malcolm Young; this is my kid brother Angus. We heard you've been having a little trouble around here. What's the story?" Dean smirked.

Stella proceeded to fill them in on all the gory details including specifics on the bouncer from the bar who was the third victim. After another ten minutes of flirtation and innuendo the brothers got up to leave and she slipped Dean a coaster with her name and number on it.

"Give me a call before you leave town. I'm off most nights by two. I can show you the night life around here."

"I'll do that." Dean replied with a wicked grin.

As they left the bar, Sam took umbrage with his brother's behavior.

"Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Use _those_ phony names. You don't think other people read album covers?"

"Gotta find the chuckles where you can, Sam. And at the moment, they're coming few and far between."

"And ordering me a sasparilla? I've got I.D.! You made it yourself!"

"Sam, I'm shocked. You don't want this life, remember? You're underage; you better turn in those I.D.s before you head out for your normal life. I mean, how you gonna explain 'em?" Dean was out the door before Sam could respond and once they saw Dad in the parking lot any further conversation seemed pointless.

John had gotten the general location of the most recent mauling and had worked up a plan of attack. They drove back to the motel they had passed on the outskirts of town and checked in.

After dumping their bags and unneeded supplies in their room they headed out to confront these werewolves. They split into two groups and since John never allowed his sons to hunt on their own they were automatically paired up, which normally would have been their preferred arrangement, but under present circumstances it would only serve to make a long and tedious night.

After two hours of mind-numbing silence and tension, Sam couldn't stand it any longer.

"Dean are we going to talk about this?" He begged his brother.

"What? What exactly do you want to talk about Sammy?" Dean casually asked, as if they really needed to talk about the weather or some other ridiculously unimportant subject.

"You know what we need to talk about. Stanford, my leaving, your pissed off attitude. Take your pick Dean." Sam replied exasperated.

"What's to talk about Sammy? You didn't need my input before, what exactly do you want me to say now? You want me to say I'm OK with this? Well I'm not. You want me to say good for you, you got what you always wanted: a normal life? OK, good for you. Enjoy your new life. All right, you satisfied now?" Dean was still so hurt by all this and all he wanted to do was lash out at the one person who had destroyed his world, to make his brother pay for all the pain he had caused.

"Dean, I told you, I'm sorry. You know I would never purposely hurt you."

"Yeah, well you didn't. Don't even consider me, but what about Dad? Did you even consider what this will do to him?"

"Yeah, Dad's gonna lose a soldier in his war. He's gonna lose the manual labor to dig the grave. He's gonna lose his second backup on shotgun. Yeah, I see what you mean, Dad's gonna be devastated." Sam let loose with all his pent-up frustration and anger.

Dean paused to calm his urge to physically pound some sense into his brother's thick skull before turning back to gaze at the jerk he didn't even recognize at this moment in time. His expression conveying the contempt he felt for his brother and his selfish actions.

"How can you say that? How can you even spew those words? Don't you know how much that man cares about you?"

_Don't you know how he drills me to protect you? Protect his baby son? Damn, I've always been there to cover his back and all he thinks about is protecting you, Sammy. And this is how you repay him? This is how you repay me? _

All Sam saw was the intense pain his brother was mired in. The pain he himself had placed within his brother's eyes, and he felt a comparable pain just in knowing he was the cause of Dean's anguish. The calm of the evening contrasted sharply with the maelstrom the two brothers were sucked into, neither knowing how to release the pain that was consuming them. The silence once more seizing them as the gulf between them widened.

Dean turned once more to walk away from his brother, unable to breathe the same air as this selfish traitor, unable to face the truth of this situation. He was losing his brother, losing the boy he had devoted his life to, losing his purpose for living. _What the hell am I going to believe in now?_

Then in an instant their whole world tilted, never again to revolve on the same axis. All they heard was the rustling of the leaves on the trees behind them, and a twig snapped, and in a life-altering second it was racing towards them, hell-bent on feasting on the two preoccupied hunters.

Dean reacted instantly, turning and firing one deadly silver bullet through the creature's heart. Sam staggered back and fell, his brother's quick actions pushing him aside, safely out of the creature's path of destruction.

Dean's protective instincts kicked in and he turned to check on his brother, but immediately he felt another presence behind him and turned back again too late. The werewolf's mate was already upon him ripping his abdomen with its extended claw and tossing his limp body against the ground twenty feet away.

A plaintive howl pierced the stillness of the night as the wolf lamented the loss of its mate. These creatures were not supposed to have feelings and loyalties, yet somehow it knew to enact its revenge on the hunter who had fired the fatal shot.

It raced past Sam and pounced on Dean's prone body sinking its snarling teeth into his shoulder, ripping away at his tender flesh. Dean let loose a blood curdling scream and struggled to tear the beast off his battered body. They tussled and rolled on the ground as he used all his might to try to keep the beast from inflicting further damage. The adrenaline pumping through him was the only possible explanation for him being able to lift the beast off its feed and keep its offending teeth from further shredding his flesh.

As he struggled for his life, he felt his strength waning and knew he was losing this battle. As weariness and blood loss took its toll, he knew he would soon be at the end. His will urged his failing body onward, while his mind knew he had given his all. His consciousness faded as he exerted his last ounce of strength, and then just as his body ceased resisting a shot rang out, whizzing past the beast and scaring it off, back into the woods whence it came. The second shot connected with the creature's back as it disappeared into the forest.

Sam came running over to his injured brother, cursing that in his haste to save him he had missed and let the beast escape with just a shoulder wound. He knelt over Dean's crumpled body and tears fell uncensored from his distraught eyes. _Oh God, this is bad._

"Dean, Dean. Look at me." Sam pleaded with his brother.

"Whoa Sammy, tone it down wouldya?" Dean replied as he slowly opened his eyes.

Sam's trembling hands pulled back the tattered remnants of his brother's jacket to view the damage, but all he saw was blood, blood everywhere, covering his brother's chest and stomach. Seeking out the source of the blood it looked like one swipe of the claw across his abdomen and the offensive bite on the shoulder, a werewolf bite: a death sentence or a license to kill, depending on who knew and what they chose to do about it. Sam shuddered at the choice that loomed before them. _Why weren't we paying attention? Why were we arguing? Why did this have to happen? Oh God, why?_

Dean lay there barely feeling the pain of his wounds, hardly feeling anything except the distress of looking into the face of his younger brother stricken with grief. The shock of the last few moments not registering, the truth not yet sinking in. One look in Sammy's eyes and it all came flooding over him and he saw his future clearly for the first time in his life. _I'm going to die._

John came running as soon as he heard the commotion. The wail of the werewolf led him to a gruesome discovery, his older son laid out with an injury that would not heal. He knelt by his son and checked the damage.

"Dean hold on. This isn't too bad; you're going to be fine." John reassured his son.

Dean gazed into his dad's eyes, studying them, not quite knowing what exactly he was seeing there. His dad looked scared, but determined. He didn't look as shattered as Sammy did and for that he was grateful. Dad needed to be strong now. If any of them were going to make it through this, Dad had to be the one to hold steady. Still, he couldn't understand his dad's response. The words and the logic behind them failing him. _What the hell Dad? Can't you see what just happened here?_

"Dad, I got bit. This ain't gonna be fine unless you plan on visiting me at the zoo."

"Dean, I said it's all right. I'm going to take care of this, don't worry." John answered back more determined, more forcefully. He wasn't quite sure who he was trying to convince, but he prayed his words would ring true.

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**I want to thank all my readers for the tremendous response to this story. This story has started off with more hits, alerts and reviews than any of my previous stories and I sincerely thank you. Oh, the pressure! I hope I don't disappoint you. Please keep reviewing and letting me know what you think.**


	4. Hope

Chapter Four – Hope

"Sam grab the first aid kit." John yelled as he maneuvered Dean to a sitting position in the car. Sam quickly grabbed the kit out of the trunk and came around to help. They wrapped Dean's arms over their shoulders and between them managed to half carry, half walk him into their motel room. The open wound on his abdomen had started bleeding again and the makeshift bandage John had applied in the field was beginning to soak through with fresh blood.

They laid him down on the bed closest to the door as they entered the dark room and Sam flicked on the lights. Sam stood by nervously watching, unsure what was happening, studiously observing his dad's actions. John commanded the scene with soldier efficiency, utilizing no wasted movements, purposely moving throughout the room as he turned on the coffee maker to get hot water and grabbed towels out of the bathroom before returning to his son and gently pulling off the bandage to examine the wound more closely.

He grabbed the small notepad by the motel phone and jotted down a list of supplies and handed it to Sam, no emotion registering in his voice as he addressed his youngest.

"Sam go to the store and get these supplies and be quick about it. We don't have much time. Go to the hospital and steal these meds out of the nurse's station and son, this better go smooth. Don't get stopped. We don't have any time to waste."

"Dad, what's the plan?" Sam hoped his dad would at least include him in whatever hope he seemed to think they had. Obviously he was furiously trying to save Dean's life when it seemed the situation was hopeless. _Dad must know something._

"Get going now."

John returned to his older son who was wincing from the considerable pain of his injuries. The water had come to full heat and he used it to clean off the blood so he could assess the damage. He twisted the cap off of a bottle of whiskey and offered it to his son. Dean took a long swallow, savoring the bite of the liquid, hoping it would dull some of his pain.

John took out the medical thread and needle and proceeded to stitch up his son's abdomen. His hands steady as he stitched, utilizing every ounce of calm he could muster to control the tremors swelling up and threatening to overcome him from the anguish of seeing his son in such a fragile state. _Stay calm, don't panic._

"Dad, what are you doing?" Dean pleaded as he looked at his dad with the saddest, most resigned eyes John had ever seen.

"Dean, you're not going to die. Just hang in there." John replied as he continued working, concentrating on the job at hand. _One step at a time, just keep moving forward._

"Dad it bit me, I'm infected. If I live I'm only going to become one of them. You know you can't let that happen."

"Dean I know what I'm doing. Trust me." John stated with an overly firm voice, his eyes meeting his sons for a fleeting moment before turning away again. _Dean, please just shut up and let me think. I'm going to fix this. I have to fix this. I **will** fix this._

Dean knew what happened when you were bit by a werewolf, and he knew it wasn't a pleasant proposition. The fever, the seizures and finally the transformation into a fierce brutal beast that felt no compassion and no guilt at tracking down and devouring helpless humans to gorge on their blood and flesh. Yeah, he was definitely looking at a bad situation. _Why the hell can't Dad just face the truth? I'm a dead man walking._

John finished stitching up the wound and turned his attention to the bite mark on Dean's shoulder. He cleaned it off and poured holy water over it. He held his son down as Dean grimaced in agony as the liquid bubbled and steamed. The steaming of the wound confirming what they already knew, that evil was waiting to claim one of their own.

John quickly bandaged both wounds and retreated to the bathroom to clean up.

For a moment he just stood at the sink gazing in horror at his son's blood saturating his hands, transfixed, unable to move or think. As the weight of their desperate situation bore down upon him, his hands started to shake involuntarily before he chastised himself forcing his hunter calm to once more take possession of his broken spirit.

With renewed focus he proceeded to wash his son's blood off as he stared blankly at the wasted, weary man who was reflected back to him in the mirror. He scrubbed furiously at his finger tips, needing all evidence of his son's injury wiped away, not wanting the slivers of blood in his nails as a constant reminder.

He was silently wishing he could as easily wash away the end result of that entire night. Wishing he had taken his sons to the movies or out to eat instead of striking off into the woods to confront evil. Wishing once more that he could turn back the clock and just be normal. Wishing Mary was here to hold him close, whispering in her soothing voice that everything would be all right. Wishing that for once he could believe in fairytales. _Wishing…._

He took a deep, calming breath trying again with all his might to still the tremors building in his heart, before quietly mumbling a prayer to any God who would listen to save his son. He offered up any price or penance if this one prayer would be answered.

He quickly splashed cold water over his drawn features and mopped off the water with a towel before taking another deep breath to steel his nerves. When he returned to the bedroom he only glanced at Dean, his son attentively watching him, his eyes seeking out some sign of hope. He took one last deep breath and turned his back to his son as he pulled out his cell phone, scrolled through his contacts and dialed.

"Joshua? John Winchester. I need your help. Dean's been bitten by a werewolf. How's your serum coming? Have you had any success?"

John listened intently and then continued.

"OK. We're leaving tonight; we'll be there by morning. Get ready for us. Joshua, I'm not going to lose my son. This is going to work." John sighed as an enormous burden was lifted from his shoulders. He was on a course of action that would save his son. He was sure of that. He would not lose his son, he couldn't lose his son. Not like this. He would not bury another member of his family, not again.

"Dad, what are you doing?" Dean quietly asked, finally breaking through and gaining his dad's attention.

"Dean, Joshua has been working on a serum for this, a cure. We're going to get you to him and this will all be taken care of. I told you, there's no reason to worry." John tried to give an encouraging smile.

"Yeah, but it hasn't worked before has it? He hasn't cured anyone yet, has he? Dad I need to know the complete truth. I deserve that." Dean looked at his dad with the wisdom of a man thrice his age and the determination of a hardened warrior.

_What sixth sense does Dean possess? How could he possibly know that? _

John realized then he wouldn't be able to lie to his son. His senses were already becoming heightened from the effects of the bite and any attempt to mislead him would ultimately fail anyway.

"No Dean. He hasn't had a cure yet, but he's close. He hasn't had many opportunities to try. You're so strong, I know in my heart this will work. I know you'll be the first cure. You need to believe that son."

"All right Dad. I'll believe for now." Dean softly replied.

He lay on the bed pondering his future. Two possible futures were laid out before him, one of which he would rather avoid at all costs. For now he would try to be positive. He knew his dad and brother would both need to believe in this miracle. Hell, he needed to believe in it, but if everything went south they would all have to face the negative future that hung over them.

John packed up their stuff and pulled the bedding off of the other bed so they would be ready the instant Sam returned. The wait seemed to drag on forever with neither Winchester bold enough to broach the deadly silence that hung over their situation. Just as the silence became unbearable, they heard the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine.

John grabbed the bags and was out the door before Sammy could cut the engine. He loaded up the trunk and returned to gather the bedding and extra pillows. He covered the back seat with the sheets and threw the surplus bedding in.

He returned to help his son out to the car and eased him into the back seat, trying to make him as comfortable as possible with the pillows and blankets. At over six foot Dean really didn't fit lying down, but he tried to get situated for the long ride. Traveling that far while suffering the pains of a werewolf attack was not going to be a pleasant experience no matter what they did to try to make him comfortable.

Sam moved the seat up to give his brother as much room as possible. Dean grinned to himself at the absurdity of that whole situation and how petty he had been. If he had only known….

John searched the bags for the Gatorade that was on the list and gave Dean the bottle to hydrate him and replace his lost electrolytes. He opened several of the medications and took out the appropriate number of pills.

"Dean you need to drink this. You won't be able to eat but we need to keep liquids in you. Take these pills; they'll help with the pain." John instructed.

Dean could see Sam's worried look in the rearview mirror as his brother slipped into the driver's seat again. Sam's face expressing all the emotions Dean felt, but wouldn't allow himself to show. He steeled himself for the journey that was to come, the soldier in him trying desperately to hold firm to his training. Knowing full well if there was ever a time to hold it together, the time was upon him. _God, give me strength._

Sam looked from his dad to his brother still clueless as to what they hoped to accomplish with their frantic efforts. He just prayed that for once Dad did know something that would reverse Dean's fate, that there was still hope, and not the unyielding prospect of certain doom.

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**Again, the response has been amazing and I thank you. I hope I didn't miss replying to any of my reviewers. Thanks again for reading. **


	5. Seizure

Chapter Five – Seizure

Dean shifted the pillows behind his back trying his best to find a comfortable position, but none seemed to exist. His heightened senses not only applied to sight and sound but also to feel, which meant every small bump or pebble they drove over reverberated through his body as if he was being dragged roughshod over a gravel road with no protection whatsoever.

Every inch of his body ached and the tightness in his stomach was pulling at the stitches in his abdomen making them threaten to pop like strings on a guitar that's been tuned too high. Several times he started to retch, but had nothing in his stomach to lose, which again just made his muscles tighten more. It felt like his body was being twisted inside out and tied in a tight knot.

His body started trembling from the onslaught of symptoms that would only escalate from here. His face was beading with sweat and his vision went blurry from time to time. His sweat drenched body started shaking from the cold tremors and he felt his mind drifting in and out of reality.

The first seizure hit him like a seismic jolt as his body arched and thrashed with his feet kicking the far door panel and his arms wildly swinging against the back of the seat. His head thrust back and slammed into the door frame with such force that Sammy instinctively pulled the car to the side of the road and rushed to his brother's side. Sam held his shoulders down while his dad held his legs as his body tried to rise up in horrible bursts of painful spasms.

The terror in his eyes revealed the anguish this seizure thrust him into. His mind was racing as control over his body's actions vanished and he was hurled into a black void of terror. All he knew was overwhelming panic and pain. He had no concept of where he was or why this was happening to him. He just felt the horror of totally losing touch with reality and falling interminably through a minefield of obstacles that battered and bruised his body on his descent downward toward a final crushing impact.

His body rose up again and again, his eyes filled with pure terror and his screams deafening within his own consciousness, yet the gasps from his mouth were unintelligible to anyone else, muffled cries lost amid the thrashing of his limbs. His heart pounding so loud and fierce he knew it was on the verge of bursting within seconds, yet it continued to beat onward, with each heartbeat threatening to be his last. The physical exertion caused by these spasms equaled the efforts of an athlete over a three hour marathon, condensed into the timeframe of a short distance race.

After almost ten minutes of unimaginable horror, the seizure ended and his exhausted body finally stopped lurching. While his outward body appeared calm, his inner voice was screaming as the tremors deep in his soul continued to shake him to his core. He lay there barely able to move his chest up and down to allow shallow breathing and wondered whether this bitch was going to be worth surviving.

He had never endured such intense physical exertion before, and he didn't know how many of these seizures he could stand. Minutes after the tremors stopped his inner spasms still throbbed onward rattling his nerves and deluging his mind with overpowering images of impending doom. Every fiber of his being was filled with dread and despair.

"Dean hang in there. Joshua will be able to stop these seizures once we get to him." John assured his son.

Dean just stared blankly at his father, still unable to respond with any semblance of coherency. Minutes dragged by with his family growing more concerned as each second passed without confirmation he could understand them. After five minutes of unsettling quiet, Dean finally gasped, taking in a lungful of air and expelling it with a harsh force as his eyes blinked furiously then somehow seemed to slowly focus again. Another few minutes and he swallowed hard before uttering his first hesitant words.

"Oh God…. I don't know how many of those I can take." Dean admitted in a halting voice.

John finally breathed again, relieved that at least he had his son back with them again, terrified for longer than he would ever admit that he had almost lost his oldest. Finding strength through his tough façade he shook off the feelings that threatened to overcome him. He refused to allow his mind to consider any outcome other than a full recovery.

"I just need you to stay tough. I know it's bad, but we'll be there soon."

John wiped the beads of sweat off his son's brow and patted his uninjured shoulder before returning to the front seat.

"Sam, let's get going." He instructed his younger son who still appeared shell-shocked from the intensity of Dean's seizure and didn't want to leave his brother's side. Sam just knelt there clutching his brother's shirt in his fist, desperately trying to hold on to him for as long as possible, refusing to be separated from him ever again.

"Yeah, drive bro. You better appreciate every chance you get to drive my car." Dean tried to joke. He nodded to his brother, his tearstained eyes subtly acknowledging the unspoken words between them. Sam reluctantly let go of his brother, laying one hand hesitantly on his chest before shutting the car door and returning to the driver's seat.

Sam wrapped his hands so tightly around the steering wheel that his knuckles turned white from the lack of circulation. His mind was racing with all the terror this situation had thrust them into. All he could think of was his cruel words to his brother coming back to haunt him with the glee of a revenge demon, _'You'll be dead before you're thirty.' _

Oh, how he wished he could rewind the clock and take back those words. How he wished they had refused to go with Dad on this senseless mission. But mostly he wished he had been the one to protect Dean by pushing him out of the path of that rampaging werewolf and that it was he laid up now with these mortal wounds.

He glanced in the rearview mirror at the pained expression on his brother's face and tears again sprang up in his eyes. He quickly wiped his sleeve across his face, knowing he had to maintain his composure or he would never be able to complete this trip. The one chance Dean had was getting to Joshua's, and he was determined to give him that chance.

Dean's head was splitting from a combination of the stress of his situation and the impact with the side door. He tightly closed his eyes and willed himself to relax. Panic was not going to help his situation. He tried his best to breathe and calm his tense nerves. Absently he started softly humming Metallica, focusing his mind on something other than the pain. _Damn, this is going to be a long drive._

Over the coming hours he experienced no further seizures on this trip to Joshua's, still the other symptoms continued to mount as the effects of the werewolf bite took possession of his body. He muttered ramblings about protecting Sammy and not paying attention and disappointing Dad as delirium swamped his mind with images from that fateful night.

It would have been a more merciful illness if he had managed to just get lost deep in his delirium, but instead he switched back and forth from total consciousness and awareness to mindless rantings where he fell away from the real world and was buried in madness. The pressure in his mind was wearing him down, as the stress of being thrust back to reality just served to increase his anxiety. He was painfully aware of just how devastating this illness was and how helpless he was to control his fate.

After nine hours of enduring this agony they were all relieved when they finally reached Joshua's secluded cabin in the mountains of Colorado. As daylight broke over the majestic scene, the Winchesters drove up to their one chance at salvation.

Joshua raced out of the cabin as soon as they pulled in and helped Dean from the car and into the house where he had a room all set up for the treatment of his good friend's son.

"We need to get him started on the first series of shots John." Joshua explained as he pulled out the longest needle Dean had ever seen. He then turned to Dean to explain.

"Dean these shots are quite painful, but they will slow the onslaught of symptoms and give us time to perfect the serum that will save you. Believe me, this will all be worth it."

"Hell, you guarantee me no more of those fucking seizures and I'll take as many shots as you want." Dean replied.

As they laid Dean down on the bed, Joshua pulled the liquid into the needle and prepared the shot. He pulled back Dean's shirt and discovered the bandage protecting his abdomen wound.

"What's this John? Dean hurt here? This is not good." Joshua asked with obvious concern.

"He got clawed by the werewolf. He has several stitches and he bled quite a bit." John offered.

Joshua was already busy removing the bandage so he could examine the wound. The bandages would have needed replaced anyway since the seizure had opened up the wound and blood was seeping through. Once Joshua viewed the damage he took a long breath before explaining.

"I'm sorry Dean; this is going to be more painful than normal because of your injury. I have to inject these shots into the muscles in your abdomen and it will cause a tightness and discomfort that's unavoidable. It just has to be this way."

"Yeah, well that figures. I guess this is just my lucky day. Maybe I should run down and buy that lottery ticket. That sucker is bound to be a winner."

Dean braced for the pain that would hopefully prevent any further seizures and lead to his full recovery. The slicing of the needle and the burning of the liquid was more intense than he ever could have anticipated. His eyes watered from the flaming torment that engulfed him. The worst pain came when Joshua slowly extracted the needle again.

Dean took several minutes to recover before asking his burning question.

"Just how many of those shots I gotta take?"

"Three times a day for four days." Joshua regretfully answered.

"Huh, that would be a lucky dozen then. Great!" Dean retorted, glad that completing his education like Dad had insisted had given him the math skills to anticipate all the pain that lay in wait for him.

"Dean I need to draw some blood to start developing my serum." Joshua brought forth another needle, this time with four vials to capture the blood.

"Man, I love needles. Dad, you better keep an eye on me cause I'm thinking about becoming a junkie so I can keep poking myself with those needles." Dean joked.

John smiled, glad to have his son back cracking jokes again. Any respite they could get from his horrid symptoms gave him more reason to hope. He knew they were on the right path. Joshua would come through with a cure. He had to, there was no other option for them and he was not about to lose his son.


	6. Promise

Chapter Six – Promise

Dean was beginning to wonder if he would be able to endure all twelve of Joshua's injections. He was thankful the shots had relieved the severity of his symptoms, yet each subsequent injection caused him more pain than the last, and Joshua was constantly apologizing for not being able to find an inch on his abdomen that wasn't already black and bruised from either an earlier injection or the rip of the creature's claw.

Still, even with the lessening of his symptoms, he knew he was a long way from cured. Joshua had relented and secretly told him under severe distress the details of the last victim he had treated. The poor soul took all twelve shots and still turned, Joshua failing to complete his cure once more. Joshua assured him this time would be different. _Yeah, right!_

As he braced for his eighth injection, Dean cursed this treatment, still he knew it was his only hope of surviving. Sam stood by his side and took his hand in a tight grip trying with all his might to pass on any strength and courage he had to his suffering brother. Dean winced as the huge needle slowly started into his tender muscles and tears formed in his pained eyes as his agony started once more.

Joshua released the hot, burning fluid and his grip on his brother's hand tightened as the fire burned in his gut, then Joshua slowly, painfully, extracted the slicing instrument of his torture.

"Dean, hold on. It'll be over soon." Sam tried his best to relieve the tension in the room and comfort his brother.

Dean just grimaced, not willing to inform the kid that his pain would last a good deal longer than Sam ever knew. He tried to shield his brother as much as possible from the full extent of his suffering. After all, what good would it do for Sam to know? After a few minutes of intense pain, the feelings dissipated to the point where he could once again manage to speak.

"Sam would ya let go of my hand? You wanna go steady or something?" Dean cracked with a forced smile.

"You alright?" Sam asked with deep concern in his voice and eyes.

"Never better."

Sam released his brother's hand but still stood by his bedside, not knowing what else he could possibly do to help him through this ordeal, yet knowing he couldn't bear to leave him alone.

Joshua patted Dean on his good shoulder and told him to rest. He'd be back in a while to check on him and then he left the brothers alone.

"Sam, I probably don't have any right to ask you this, but…." Dean started and then hesitated.

"Dean, you can ask me anything. What can I do for you?" Sam pleaded.

_Big mistake Sammy. Don't ever offer up something until you know what it is, cause I can tell you right now, you're not gonna like it._

Dean just smiled at his kid brother, a sad, resigned smile. As aggravating as Sam's constant questions and bickering with Dad were, he was his only brother and he loved him more than life itself and couldn't bear the thought of leaving him at this point in his life. Sam thought he was all grown, but Dean knew better.

Sam had been sheltered his entire life, protected by his brother and dad. Oh, Sam would never admit it, perhaps he truly didn't even realize it, but Dean knew. He knew that regardless of the worldly knowledge Sam possessed from living a life battling evil, in reality he was still an innocent.

As much as Sam had seen and knew to be true, he still didn't believe in his true destiny. He stubbornly maintained a child's response to the evil in the world; if he just ignored it, he believed he could live a normal life.

Sam's refusal to accept his fate was his Achilles' heel, his great weakness. He was not as smart as he thought he was. Dean knew how much he still had to learn and experience, especially if he went off on his own, out in that big, bad world that existed beyond his brother's protective reach.

But that was the problem, if Dean didn't survive this bitch, then who would teach Sammy the last lessons he still needed to learn? Who would protect him from danger? Who would give their life and very existence to insure Sammy lived safe and unharmed? There was only one possible person and that was Dad, yet he knew Dad would be suffering himself and might not be capable of fulfilling that function.

Dean really didn't know what his death would do to the people he loved, the ones who loved him, but he remembered how his dad fell apart when his mom died. He remembered how he had to pick up the slack and take care of Sammy, and how he even had to take care of his dad. He remembered the overwhelming pain his dad seemed buried within, and how just existing had taxed him to the point where there was a time Dean wondered if they would all just collapse from the pressure of it all.

Somehow, they had managed to survive, but the cumulative effect of this second tragedy might just be the straw that breaks that damn camel's back. As bad as this dying was, to think it would not only end his life, but also end his family's existence, tore at his heart and plunged him into even deeper despair, as if that were possible.

"Sam, just listen to what I have to say. First off, I'm not planning on dying. I'm planning on being around for a very long time just to kick your ass when you screw up."

Sam smiled at the thought of his shorter brother trying.

"I want you to promise me something." Dean continued.

"Anything Dean, I told you that." Sam earnestly responded again.

"If I die, I want you to put off going to school for a time, a year or at least a semester. I want you to stay with Dad at least that long. Will you do that Sammy? Will you do that for me?" Dean pleaded.

"Dean, you're not going to die. I don't want to talk about this. It's not going to happen." Sam angrily replied.

"Sam, we need to face this. It _could_ happen."

"No Dean. It's **not **going to happen. **I can't talk about this!"**

"Look Sam. I don't want to have this conversation either. I don't want to be getting these fucking shots. I don't want to think about dying at twenty-two, but you know what? If you wanna be an adult then you're gonna have to think about things you don't want to, cause that's what happens when you face the real world."

As soon as the words came out of his mouth he regretted them. He was trying so hard to stay cool and not show his fear, and there it was exposed to his kid brother in the worst possible manner, when he had only been trying to arrange a solution to this problem.

"Oh God, this is all my fault. If I hadn't been arguing with you this never would have happened." Sam started in, but his brother refused to let him finish, cutting off his comments with a curt reply.

"Sam, stop it. This isn't your fault. Do you hear me? Look we do a dangerous job and sometimes bad things happen. It's no one's fault. It just happened. Now you listen to me. This wasn't your fault or Dad's fault. It's that damn creature's fault and that's the end of it." Dean reached out and grabbed his brother's arm refusing to let him walk away to wallow in his perceived guilt.

"I didn't mean it." Sam cried as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"What? Didn't mean what?"

"What I said, I didn't mean it."

"Sam, I'm not psychic, what the hell are you talking about?" Dean softly asked.

"Back at the house, I….I was just worried about you ….about this job. I just wanted you to stop. This is all my fault."

"Oh….." A look of realization passed over Dean's face as his brother's words from that night came back to him. In the same soothing tone he had used every time Sammy awoke from a nightmare and crawled into bed with his big brother for the comfort he could find nowhere else, Dean continued. "Sam, they were just words…You didn't make this happen. Come on now. You know that, right? I know you didn't mean it…. I know."

"But I said it Dean…. I said… you'd be dead before your thirty and now look…."

"Hey, look at the bright side, kiddo. You gave me another eight years. I could sure use them about now." Dean tried to joke.

Sam smiled in spite of himself. _How do you do that, Dean? How do you always know what to say to make it better? _Sam wiped the tears from his cheeks and stood quietly shaking as he listened to his brother, his protector, his best friend who only five days before he had tried to destroy with his selfish desire to escape this life of theirs.

"Sam, you OK?" Dean asked.

"No." Sam replied, his lips quivering as he tried to put on a brave face for his brother, tears filling his anguished eyes betraying his impending collapse.

Dean patted his arm and released his grip on his brother before continuing with his request.

"Sam I know you don't want this hunting life, a part of me has always known it. I understand you wanting to find your own way, I do, but Dad's gonna need you more than you know and I think you're gonna need him. I just need to know you'll be there for each other if the worst happens, OK?"

"But Dean, you can't die. Please don't die." Sam's lips were quivering again, his mind once more going to a place he knew he couldn't face. _Here it is my worst nightmare. Why God? Why are you doing this? Why Dean?_

"Sammy, this is just in case, you know? Just covering all the bases. I know Joshua is going to cure this, we all gotta believe that, OK?"

"All right Dean. You know Dad and I would probably kill each other if we didn't have you to break us up."

"Yeah, I know. That's me alright, Dean Winchester, peace broker. Think the United Nations has a spot for me?"

"They'd be lucky to get you. But what would we do without you?"

"Let's hope you never have to find out…. But Sammy…, I have your word, right? I just need to know that if it does happen, you'll be there for Dad."

"All right, but it's not gonna happen. You're too tough to die." Sam appeared stronger, more determined.

"Hell, I am one ornery bastard, ain't I?" Dean joked.


	7. Facing Fears

Chapter Seven – Facing Fears

Since arriving at Joshua's, John had been noticeably absent from his injured son's bedside. He had spent his time with his good friend discussing their treatment options, planning their next moves, and plotting their strategies. He had left the comfort of his older son to Sam. He knew Sammy wanted to be with his brother and their close bond would offer Dean more support than he ever could.

He had never been much good at giving support or providing comfort. The tragic events of his life had only served to reinforce the natural toughness of his Marine training. He was a man of action, not a man for words and comfort. He had no words for his son, and he felt no comfort. All he felt was terror. He was immersed in the deepest fear and agony a father could endure.

His mind could not conceive of losing his son and his heart refused to even consider the possibility. His only means of coping was to deny the problem, therefore in a hard, neglectful way ignore his son. He just couldn't bear to be with him, knowing deep down in that place he refused to acknowledge that any moment with Dean could possibly be his last.

He would have been content to just continue having fleeting moments with Dean, a quick 'hey, son' in the morning and an equally short 'hang in there' in the evening. Any more contact with his injured son could only bring up the nagging doubts that this treatment would not work and John just couldn't face that prospect. He feared any contact with Dean would only reveal his doubts to his son with his heightened senses, and thus cause more fear and anxiety instead of offering up support.

_Hell, who am I kidding? I just can't bear to see death hovering over my son, so fragile and weak, inching closer each day to claiming him as its own. _

He was finally forced to confront his fears head on when Sam forcefully announced Dean had requested a visit from his too long absent father. Sam's eyes were condemning as he berated his dad for leaving his sons alone with their anguish for far too long. With trepidation greater than any he had ever felt facing evil over the past eighteen years; John entered Dean's room to face his older son and his fears.

Dean had been alone with his thoughts quite a lot over the past few days even though Sammy was constantly at his side. Dean had thought he was there too much actually, but he hated being alone, especially now. He liked having his brother with him even though he knew he was being selfish and it would have been better for Sam to be kept more at a distance.

During the times Sam slept, Dean's mind ran rampant. He himself slept very little, figuring he'd get enough sleep when he was dead. _Now, that was a bad thought, let's try not to be so morbid!_

As he lay awake at night pondering his fate his mind raced with thousands of thoughts, yet the subject that was at the forefront was this prospect of dying. He just couldn't keep his mind from traveling over that road time and again. Hell, it _is _something each of us will do, sooner or later. He just never thought he'd be in the sooner group, or shall we say the _now_ group.

This was going to be tough, this dying. He always thought when he died it would be quick, in the heat of battle, in a blaze of glory: a bullet to the heart, a sharp claw ripping across his throat, a simple snap of the neck. He never anticipated knowing and waiting, pondering his own imminent demise and what his passing would do to his family.

Yeah, he was expecting it to be quick and easy, not drawn out and agonizing. Damn, he wasn't prepared for this. He wasn't sure if he could do this, but then again he really didn't have a choice in the matter. He didn't want to die. He wasn't ready to die, but here it was. Death waiting patiently for all hope to wane so it could collect its due.

He wanted to do this right, to somehow be brave and not make it any harder on his family. He wanted to make it easier for them, lessen their pain, hell he wanted to make it easier for himself. He just didn't know how to go about doing that. For all Dad's training and guidance, he didn't have a clue how to go about dying.

He just knew he didn't want to disappoint his dad. He _couldn't _disappoint his dad. He had to insure his last moments on this earth were strong and steadfast. Whatever happened he had to be brave, he had to hide any weakness he felt. _Project a strong image and you'll gain strength._ Yeah, right! Whoever thought up that crock of bull?

The one comfort he found was he was not in Sammy and Dad's position, having to again watch someone he loved die. As bad as this was gonna be, it was preferable to watching one of them die. He wouldn't trade places with either of them, heck he already _had _traded places with Sammy when he threw himself between his little brother and that rampaging werewolf. He didn't regret that act for a second. Sammy would live. He should be grateful for that blessing and accept the rest.

He wondered if this is what a condemned prisoner felt like heading to the execution chamber. It might be similar, but it couldn't really be the same, after all they would have committed a horrendous crime, a part of them would have to feel they deserved what was to come. What was his crime? What had he done to deserve this? Save his brother? Sacrifice himself for another?

God, it just wasn't fair, but he guessed that didn't really matter either. It may not be fair, but it certainly _is_. No escaping this. If it was going to happen he'd just have to face it. He was glad he had his dad to lean on. He hoped John could be strong this time, cause he knew if his dad fell apart, all bets would be off, and all hell would break loose.

He'd never experienced this feeling before concerning his own well being: this feeling of complete and total helplessness and panic. That sinking feeling in the deep recesses of your stomach that no attempt at bravado could temper. He had only felt this way before when he feared Sam was hurt or worse killed. He'd never had it concerning his own safety, but then again, he'd never faced such certain despair and hopelessness.

_Just don't let me fall apart. Give me the strength to face this as a man. Give me the fortitude to do this the right way. A brave man dies but one death, a coward dies many. No dress rehearsals this time, this is the final act._

His dad entered his room with a look of absolute terror overwhelming his stress worn face. Dean couldn't remember ever seeing fear on his dad's face before and he found it interesting in a strange way. He could sense his dad would rather be anywhere but here in the room of his dying son. He really couldn't blame him; after all, he himself would rather be anywhere else but here.

"Hey son. You wanted to see me?"

Dean considered easing into the conversation, engaging in small talk before pulling out the big guns. He looked at the pained expression on his dad's face, the despair at having to address his oldest son on his death bed, and decided to cut his dad some slack and just get the whole damn conversation over with.

He mustered all the courage he had to confront his dad with what needed to be said. They were both men now, no sense ignoring the fuchsia elephant dancing through the room with bells on her toes. She sure as hell wasn't gonna just vanish cause they wanted her to.

"Dad, promise me if this doesn't work…. You know.., if you have to clean up this mess. Promise me you won't tell Sammy what you had to do. You know he wouldn't understand. You know he'd never forgive you. You can make up a story, clean it up. Will you do that Dad? Will you do that for both your sakes?"

Dean was trying to be brave, but he still felt the tears welling in his eyes. _Please God, don't let them fall. Please let me keep my brave face on. _

"Dean, don't talk about it, it's not going to come to that. Joshua's going to come through with the antidote. I'm not going to lose you. That's not happening."

John's pride in his son had never been stronger and he couldn't see how any decent God could let this young man die now in this senseless way. He refused to even consider the possibility. He wouldn't lose his son, he _couldn't_ lose his son. And he sure as hell couldn't be the one to extinguish the light in those soulful eyes.

How could he be here with his son like this, having a conversation such as this in the first place? _This is too surreal. Somebody please wake me up. Please take me back before any of this happened. Please, give me one more chance._

"Dad, you and I both know we have to face facts. We have to consider our options. You can't let me turn. We both couldn't live with it if I hurt someone. Hell, I could hurt you or Sammy. I know I couldn't live with that. Please Dad, promise me you'll take care of it." Dean pleaded with such deep emotion surging, his voice cracking at the end of his request. His eyes were deep pools of moisture, love and pain mixing with the anguish of placing his dad in this role.

"Dean, don't worry. I'll never let you hurt anyone."

John still didn't know what course of action he would take in the event the antidote didn't work, except he knew he could not take the life of his son; but somewhere in the dark recesses of his heart, he knew if Dean turned he would no longer be his son. _God, if you do exist, then why the hell have you deserted us? How can you let this happen?_

"Dad, I'm sorry this has to fall on you. I'm sorry I screwed up and put you in this position. I know it sucks, but it's what I want. I don't want to be a monster; I need you to be strong for me. I need you to do what needs to be done. Please Dad."

Dean hated asking his father to do him this service, but he had no one else to turn to, he certainly would never ask this of Sammy and he knew his brother could never fulfill this request. He wasn't sure if his dad could, but deep in his heart, he had confidence the hunter in his dad would do the right thing, even if the father could not.

_Damn, this sure as hell sucked_ _big time!_

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**Thanks to all my readers and reviewers. I can't personally thank the anon. reviews cause, duh they're anonymous, but thanks guys.**

**PM to** **Cruelty:** love your reviews. Dean _is _heroic and insightful and Sam _can be_ so annoying when he doesn't appreciate big brother (sorry Sam fans, I _do_ love Sam, I just don't like how he _sometimes_ treats Dean) Just curious if you have read my story, Reality of a One Night Stand? In it I address another pet peeve of mine concerning Sam's attitude and comments toward Dean. It does annoy me that Dean seems to let it slough off his back and it doesn't seem to bother him. Just my take on one night when it all comes to a head and he reacts to Sam's constant put downs, of course he still tries to protect his Sammy. I would love to know what you think if you are interested in reading it. Thanks again, B.J.


	8. Chick Flick Moments

Chapter Eight - Chick Flick Moments

As Dean's prospects for a cure faded in his own mind, he considered his options. Not that he really had a hell of a lot of options. The truth was the only control he had over this situation was how he chose to handle it, how he conducted himself. He had already determined he was _not _going to fall apart. He was not going to beg for his life or rail against the cruelty of fate. That was not the Winchester way.

His greatest regret was leaving Sam when he needed him most. He knew Sammy would need his big brother to comfort him in his grief. Yeah, that would be a neat trick! With that option obviously not available he considered the next best thing. What words of wisdom could he leave his brother? What insight could he offer to help his brother through the trying times to come?

He thought back to losing his mom and he wondered what she might have told him if she had only known their last moments together would be the final ones they ever shared. What last words would she have wanted her son to hear? He then envisioned all the conversations that never were and the huge, gaping hole they left in his life.

With total despair he considered the prospect of leaving such a hole in Sam's life, of leaving words unspoken, conversations frozen in limbo, silently drifting through time and space never to be shared by the brothers. He then considered what he wanted his last words on this earth to be.

_Damn, this is scary stuff, worse than facing any rawhead I might encounter. I can't believe I am actually considering this. _

Dean's prime directive had always been followed as if it was carved in granite and cast down by Moses himself: no chick flick moments. He absolutely detested those touchy-feely, lovey-dovey, feel good moments that girls always want to watch at the movies and guys just want to barf their popcorn at.

Around the time Sam became a teenager and no longer wanted his brother's protective arms wrapped around him to shield him from the night terrors is when Dean proclaimed the new rules for the Winchester men to his kid brother.

Oh sure, Sam got away with a few tender exchanges: when Dean was dropped off the roof by that witch and smashed his left wrist, broke four ribs, one of which punctured his lung _and _suffered a concussion, or when Sam dislocated his shoulder and fractured his leg in two places when that poltergeist threw him into a brick wall, and most spectacularly, when John went missing for eight days and they found him near death lying in a pool of his own blood. Caught up in those moments, Dean had let his directive lapse, until they were all back on an emotional even keel.

From a very young age Dean had possessed the presence of mind to always follow orders. He was the perfect soldier after all. He was precise in his ability to listen, comprehend and execute all of Dad's orders with a detachment void of any emotional response. Now he suddenly realized he was the one preparing to break his own pre-eminent order. _And I always thought Sam was the girl in the family!_

As much as he hated the idea of sharing a warm and tender moment with his brother, he now realized if there was ever a time for such a moment, the time was upon them. If there was anything that needed saying, they better get if off their chests now, cause tomorrow might not come.

He knew he had loads of conversations he wanted to share with his brother. He had stories and advice on women, guns, tactics, cars, and oh, yeah….. life. He had so much he needed to tell his brother, so much wisdom he wanted to impart on the most important person in his life. So many memories….

_I've seen things you people wouldn't believe…. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in the rain…. _

_Will I be lost? Will I become a faded, distant memory? Will Sammy hold me dear in his heart, like I've always held Mom? And then will he suffer the pain of that loss his entire life, just like I have? Man….so much shit going on here._

With his time running out, he suddenly realized how much Sam was going to miss out on if he died without telling him his stories, his thoughts, his memories. And then he again considered how much he had missed out on when Mom died.

_Damn, why are we cursed? What God have we pissed off?_

As he contemplated just how far he was willing to go towards that infinite Gilmore Girls' chat fest he unexpectedly found humor in their situation. Damn, maybe they should bring Dad in for some deep emotional bonding time. He was sure he would jump right in, sharing his secret dreams and hopes, revealing his true thoughts, and pulling his sons close to him in an emotional embrace. He could envision a truly spiritual experience happening between the Winchester men.

Yeah, he could sure see that happening in this lifetime…..huh, _lifetime_, never really thought about _that_ in the past tense before.

Once more the desperate reality of his situation took hold and he was thrust back into the hell his life had become. With the weight of the world now bearing down upon his shoulders he considered how normal their lives would have been if not for that Demon coming into their home eighteen years before.

In rare times of reflection like this, he remembered his dad being different, being comforting and loving. He remembered shamelessly falling into his mom and dad's arms and receiving all the hugs and kisses he desired, and he remembered _wanting _lots and lots of hugs and kisses. _Guess I've changed, huh?_

He remembered being a happy, carefree kid just bursting forth with life. Funny how that kid turned into the fucked up man lying here waiting to die. Maybe, on second thought, he didn't have any words of wisdom for his brother. Maybe all he had was anguish and the pain of knowing too much and understanding too little.

A far away look settled in his eyes. His mind focusing on past lives, and future lives that would never be. Any possible future once more blurred, obscured from his view, lost in the crushing reality of his situation and his imminent doom.

Yeah, if he was being straight with himself he would admit that maybe this hunting life wasn't all he made it out to be. Maybe in another time.., in a different place.., he would have been happy living another life…., God forbid a "normal" life. Yeah, maybe he would have even been _happy_…. It had just been so long….and he now knew too much to ever go back again. Still….

_Maybe if I was being totally honest, I would admit that I could use a hug about now, that deep down, I wish Mom was here to hug me and tell me everything was going to be all right like she used to. God, I miss Mom._

_Damn, here come those tears again. I gotta stop going to those places, I gotta be strong._

"Dean, did you get any sleep?" Sam asked.

Dean was startled, not realizing Sam had returned to his room until he broke into his thoughts. He looked deep into his brother's eyes and again found his purpose. He remembered his mission, once more finding comfort in the certainty of why he was alive in the first place. _Protect your brother. Protect Sammy._

_Here we go. Onward into uncharted territory. Steady she goes. Don't think, just say it._

"Yeah, I got a little. Sam….there's a few things I need to tell you."

"What Dean? What are you thinking?" Sam asked, concern springing forth from the serious expression spread across his brother's face.

Dean looked so serious, so worried, and that made Sam worried.

_All right Dean, just spit it out. You can do this. Sammy needs to hear it._

"Sam, you know I love you. Right?"

"What?"

"You heard me; don't go expecting me to repeat myself."

Sam just stared at his brother, as tears again welled in his eyes.

"Oh, come on now. It's not that scary a thought now, is it?" Dean tried to joke, once more trying to hide his emotional state and shaky vulnerability.

Sam just stared at his brother, tears rolling down his face.

"Sam, would ya say something?"

"You're saying goodbye. Please don't do that. Don't."

"Oh, come on now. What's _with _you? Did you get into Joshua's stash?" Dean tried to flash his everything's cool smile, but it faltered after the briefest moment and was replaced by a desperate, nervous attempt at a smile. _Come on now Sammy, don't fall apart on me. Don't do this to me. _

Sam just stared at him, tears filling his eyes. Dean cleared his throat, _damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead_.

"All right now, listen up. You're my kid brother and I love you. That's it. I am _not _saying it again. Now go on. Get outta here." Dean waited for some response, some reaction from his little brother. After what seemed like an eternity, Sam finally broke through the unsettling quiet, softly whispering his response.

"Dean, I love you too."

"Well, it took you long enough to say it. You really had to consider your choices there didn't you?" Dean cracked, relieved this _moment _ hadn't turned into a total tear fest.

"You jerk. If you weren't sick I'd pound you for that." Sam was suddenly more in control.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

The brothers just stood staring at each other. The truth finally out in the open and the heavens had not yet opened up and rained down the apocalypse. Dean then considered going further.

_What the hell, what's the worst that can happen? I guess God could strike me dead. Huh, big threat!_

"Sammy, you know I'm proud of you, right?"

"You are?" Sam looked up, straight into his brother's eyes, wonder filling his melancholy eyes.

In that moment, Dean knew he was doing the right thing. He could see his brother light up and he knew with certainty Sammy _did _need to hear this. Ever since that first time when he held his baby brother at the hospital the night he was born, Dean would do anything to give Sammy what he needed, even subject himself to this chick flick moment.

"Yeah Sammy, I am. You've all right…, for a kid brother. I wish I could tell you all the times you made me smile when I thought I was gonna lose it. You've always given me something to hold on to, you know? With all the bad stuff we see…, it was nice knowing you were in this world, that something good could still exist, something pure and unspoiled."

"Dean, I don't know what to say. You were the one who always made it seem OK. Even when things were really bad, I always knew I could count on you. You've _always _looked after me. I know that."

"Good…. Sammy.., I'm sorry if I let you down now… I'm sorry…. I'm sorry if I'm not there when you need me. I want to be. I've always _wanted to_…." Dean's eyes started misting up, this chick flick moment finally getting to him. He looked into his brother's eyes to see the same moisture filling his eyes. _Damnit!_

"I know…. We're gonna get through this. I know we are." Sam offered, his hand firmly grasping his brother's arm. Dean felt his strength returning, his façade once more slipping into place.

"Yeah? Well, you're not gonna be rid of me yet. I've got to keep your ass in line. You better mind your P's and Q's off at that big fancy college. You don't want me coming out there and kicking your butt now."

"You can come try anytime you feel lucky."

"Lucky? You are so gonna pay for that, kiddo."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!... Hey Sammy, seeing as how you're such a brain going off to some high falutin college, you wanna explain what the hell that means anyway, 'minding your P's and Q's'?"

"You really want to know?"

"Yeah, inquiring minds want to know."

"Well, back when they were first setting type by hand, the p and q were lower case letters that were mirror images of each other and were commonly confused. They were next to each other in the trays and it was just a reminder to the typesetter to be careful not to switch them."

Dean took a moment and just stared at his brother in complete disbelief.

"Oh my God! You _are_ a geek!" Dean grinned.

"Hey, you said you wanted to know." Sam answered defensively.

"Yeah, I did."_ Thanks Sammy, now I can go to my grave with all life's questions answered._

The brothers just stared at each other for a moment longer. Sam's eyes started filling with tears again with the stagnant air giving his mind more time to ponder their dire situation. Dean broke the silence before they both descended into the pools of despair once more.

"OK then…. Chick Flick Moment officially over. Why don't you go see what's keeping Joshua. I think it's time for my next shot and I sure as hell don't wanna be late for that!"

Dean watched with tears in his eyes as his brother left his room to search out Joshua. _I don't want to leave you Sammy. I've always wanted to be there for you. I just know now that I'm not gonna be, and I'm so sorry. Sammy, remember me._

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	9. Transformation

_**He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.**_

_**And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.**_

**- Friedrich Nietzsche**

Chapter Nine – Transformation

Joshua hesitated, trying to find a spot for this last injection, gently feeling Dean's bruised and tender abdomen, his mottled skin showing in Technicolor the extent of the damage already done to his tortured stomach. He took a breath to steady his own nerves as he settled on a spot and proceeded to push the needle firmly in.

Dean rose up four inches as the tender spot objected to the anguish it was being forced to endure. The scream from his lips pierced the stillness when it became painfully evident this spot was not the right spot after all. Already committed, Joshua gritted his own teeth as he continued onward as Sam desperately tried to hold his brother down.

Once the needle was all the way in, Joshua paused for a second, giving Dean a temporary respite. Dean's eyes pleaded with him to just wait, just give him this moment to brace himself for the coming pain. The sweat beaded on his forehead as he anticipated his impending agony. _Oh God, I can't take this._

Dean would have preferred just staying like that interminably, just leave the damn needle where it was and for God's sake don't release that burning fire. Joshua smiled at him, lulling him into a peaceful tranquility before suddenly releasing the fluid and once more slowly extracting the instrument of torture.

Dean cried out again, louder and more bloodcurdling then before, but Joshua steeled his nerves and continued, knowing that was his only course of action. Hating the pain Dean was suffering through, yet knowing no other response.

"I'm sorry Dean, that's the last. You won't have to suffer any more of these shots." Joshua consoled.

The tears staining Dean's cheeks were all the response he could muster. His voice lost, still buried deep within him, the torment once more overwhelming. Joshua, knowing he had inflicted his final act of torture, left the brothers alone one more time.

Ten minutes passed and Dean had still not uttered a sound, aside from the rare moan he could no longer suppress. His doleful eyes conveying all the pain trapped deep within his trembling body.

Sam stood silently by his suffering brother, unsure of anything more that would help, save the knowledge he was there and wished he could take on all of Dean's pain himself. His brother had finally completed his twelfth injection and was lying deathly still, as if any movement would send more pain searing through his body.

Suddenly Dean's chest lurched upward and his legs kicked out as an intense seizure wracked his body. The gasp from his mouth was startling as his teeth clenched and his eyes glazed over, staring at the ceiling in horror. His body started to thrust and in an instant had propelled him off the bed, landing face down on the floor.

He was violently shaking and jerking as the massive seizure overtook him sending his mind back down that long, black, expanse of nothing except pain and agony. Sam struggled to turn him over and frantically tried to still the spasms that were threatening to shake his brother's teeth lose.

"Dad, **Dad**, Joshua, please someone. **HELP!**" Sam cried out desperately.

John and Joshua both came running, almost colliding at the doorway as they raced to Sam's aid. John stopped frozen in his tracks as the sight of his son flailing on the floor brought all the pain and harsh reality of their situation into sharp focus. _No, this can't be happening._

Dean was thrashing on the floor with the wildest, most frantic look in his eyes. His body was violently striking out, hitting Sam and causing welts to form from the impacts.

Once all three men were there, they finally managed to contain the worst of Dean's violent outbursts by controlling the movements of his body, but his mind and inner spasms still embroiled him in the deepest, darkest despair.

His fractured mind only knew the terror and crushing pain of this seizure. The pain and panic overtook his senses and he descended into hell once more. The thrusts of his body raised him up off the floor and then he crashed back down, even the hold of three strong men couldn't totally subdue him.

His cries of anguish were shocking as he yelled out furiously trying to fight off the terror that enveloped him. His mind saw only blackness and peril and his soul shook from the fear that overpowered him. The pain in his joints magnified with every lurch of his body. His body was on fire with torment.

His eyes once more shown wide like saucers as they fixated on invisible terrors that pushed him over the edge into madness. Tears welled in his eyes as the pain consumed him. Even with his dad's strong embrace holding him down, he still rose up time and again, desperately trying to escape his descent into that black abyss of darkness that had been waiting so patiently for too many days.

The horror of this seizure overwhelmed any meager control they had tried to pretend existed, only to now realize his fate was no longer in any of their hands. The werewolf bite was exerting its dominance over his body and mind, and his soul was lost in the vast expanse of the pain within.

The seizure lasted twice as long as the previous one and when its effects finally started to diminish, Dean was catatonic. His body and soul too spent to even attempt to reclaim his mind. He lay there staring at the ceiling, a vacant, empty shell of the man he had once been. Now just a vessel waiting to be filled with evil. Now only waiting for the full moon to once more give him purpose.

John gazed at his son, knowing the end was fast approaching, yet still unable to face that reality. _Damn it, there has to be a way. Dean, don't you do this. You fight son, you hear me? _

Forty minutes after the first sign of the seizure, Dean again moaned and gasped for air. His body shuddered as his lungs pulled in fresh air to replace the stagnant fumes of this illness. His flickering eyes darted back and forth before once more focusing on the too familiar surroundings. His temporary control once more established as his mind appeared to again return to his wasted body.

"Dean, you there?" John hesitantly asked.

Moments passed until Dean finally spoke his first broken words, his words tinged with a quiet desperation.

"Dad, it's over…. You know it." Sad, resigned eyes pleaded with his dad to just admit defeat this one time, just throw in the towel and let him go with whatever shred of dignity he might still be able to muster. _Please Dad, let me go._

"Dean, you hang in there. You hear me? You fight. That's an order."

Dean solemnly looked on his dad's frozen features. He paused for just a second before closing his eyes in a tight squint, taking a ragged breath, and softly uttering, "Yes, sir."

They helped Dean to his shaky feet and gently got him back into bed. Sam stood by silently showing all the emotions they all felt, but were too stoic to acknowledge. John and Joshua left the room and went down the hall to confer on possible alternative treatments, debating once more on options. The harsh, unyielding truth revealing the series of twelve shots had failed to stem the transformation that was beginning and would culminate with the full moon.

"Dean, it'll be all right. Dad will figure this out. Joshua won't give up on you." Sam encouraged.

"Sam, I want to be alone. Just leave me alone." Dean whispered, fear of what was happening driving his request. These foreign feelings building up inside him, threatening to spill beyond his control, filled him with terror. The terror of the unknown and the fear of what he was now capable of.

"No. I'm not going to leave you."

The anger that rose up in Dean shocked him, his spent body suddenly energized by a surge of vigor. He lashed out grabbing his brother's arm as a deep growl emanated from his mouth, a voice unrecognizable even to himself.

"**I said leave me alone!"**

Sam yelled as his arm was pierced by the long nails protruding from his brother's fingertips. The fresh blood revealed there enflaming his brother's senses, Dean suddenly lusting for the taste of human blood…., the taste of his own brother's blood.

Dean's eyes were fierce and wild for a second before turning away from his brother, fearful and ashamed at his lack of control. Dean felt the beast within him emerging, instilling absolute terror into his weary heart.

"Sammy get out of here _now_!I don't want to hurt you. Please, **just go**."

Sam suddenly understood his brother's demand, the look in his brother's eyes finally registering. He stumbled backwards, running for his dad, praying his dad and Joshua could fix this. _Oh God, please don't let this happen._

Dean wrapped his hands tightly in the sheets surrounding him, unwilling to accept the changes that were coming over him. Not wanting to acknowledge that he was no longer a man. He was trapped somewhere on the desperate path to becoming an animal, a beast, a monster to be tracked down by hunters such as himself and executed. An evil just waiting to prey on humankind.

Outside down the hall his brother confronted his dad. Angry words lashed out filling the tense air with a deadly vibe of devastation. Dean's heightened hearing registering every hurtful word hurled. The pain of his family embroiled in one more great confrontation, one last bitter fight all because of him, brought more pain to his weary countenance.

"This is _your _fault. Dean wouldn't be hurt if we didn't go out looking for evil all the time. Did you ever think of that?" Sam yelled in anger and resentment at his obstinate father.

"Sam just shut up."

"No. I want answers. Why do you keep sending us out there? Why would you sacrifice your own son for your stupid vengeance?"

"Sam, we're fighting a war. What else would you do? Let evil win? Just let all those innocents get hurt and do nothing?" John exploded back at his younger son, too weary to fight, yet too stubborn to just walk away.

"It's _your_ war, not ours. I sure as hell wouldn't sacrifice my son for someone I didn't even know."

"I would _never_ sacrifice my son. How can you say that?"

"Yeah? Well, Dean is _dying_. You sacrificed him, didn't you? This is all your fault."

"My fault? _You _were with him. Why didn't _you_ kill the damn thing? If you'd followed your training none of this would have happened. Why didn't _you_ stop this?" John lashed out before considering the cruelty of his words. His anger driving his voice before reason intercepted his hurtful words.

Sam looked as though he had been struck through the heart with a flaming dagger, the pain searing his chest and embroiling him in an even deeper level of hell. His eyes filled with tears once more, detest for his father once more consuming him.

"Oh God. Sam, I didn't mean it."

"**I hate you**."

Sam failed to wait for a response from his dad, he had heard it all before, and he no longer cared what his pathetic excuse for a father had to say in his own defense. With one last look of total contempt he pushed his dad away and ran down the hallway.

John was shattered by the onslaught of his son's fury. His entire body shook from the intense hatred he felt emanating from his younger son, and the fear of the truth of his words. He knew he should go after him, but he just didn't have the time or energy to deal with him now. Dean needed him. His focus had to be on Dean, Sam could wait. Still, his angry words haunted him. _Damn it Sammy, how can you think that?_

How could he speak those words? How could he believe them? Of course he wouldn't sacrifice his son. He loved his sons more than life itself; he loved his sons more than _anyone's_ life. Don't ever ask him to choose cause he would always choose them and he would do anything to insure they lived. _Anything._

His pain at seeing his son suffer and the thought of losing him was all he could think of now. He had barely survived losing Mary and he knew he would not survive losing Dean. He could not watch his son die. _I won't!_

A father should never have to bury his son, that was not the way it was supposed to be. The impending loss was too incomprehensible to even consider. Damn it! Dean was too strong to die, and John was too stubborn to lose against evil this time. This was _not_ going to happen.

There had to be a way to save him. He was not going to surrender his son to death regardless of the odds. Whatever the bargain or price he would gladly pay it. _There has to be a way._

"Joshua, Joshua, where are you?" John stormed through the small cabin until he found his friend once more hard at work in his lab.

"John, what is it?"

"Joshua, I want you to try that shot. I don't care what the odds are. That shot is going to save my son. You hear me, Joshua? You hear me? Dean will not die, not today, not this week, not for a very long time. I won't allow it." John proclaimed.

"John, it's your decision. You know the risks."

"The risk is doing nothing. No way am I going to stand by and watch my son die."


	10. Morning Star

"**_The morning star always gets wonderful bright the minute before it has to go, ---doesn't it?"_**

**_-Thornton Wilder, Our Town_**

Chapter Ten – Morning Star

Dean lay on his bed inwardly trembling from the intense feelings overwhelming him. The energy that surged through his body with a fierce, bestial origin scared him more than the prospect of dying. This new force possessing him made him feel more alive and powerful than he ever had in his young life.

His body was foreign to him now, as if it was no longer his. His mind felt trapped in a strange realm, the body of a beast. He knew it was only a matter of time before the beast took over complete control of what life he had left. _Funny how I feel more alive now, knowing I am on the brink of death. _

He had only disobeyed his dad's orders twice before in his life. The first time when he was ten and left his brother alone, and that Shtriga almost brought about their doom. Six years later, he repeated his mistake. As a teenager he had let his own wants and desires cloud his judgement and had once again left Sammy alone and unprotected, only that time vampires threatened to make him pay the ultimate price.

Another six years had passed and now at twenty-two, he prepared to disobey his dad for the last time. Tears moistened his eyes as he came to terms with the prospect of leaving his brother alone and unprotected yet again, of never again being there to protect Sammy.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed, steady on his feet once more, thankful the bruising of his abdomen no longer pained him. He grabbed his t-shirt, long sleeve shirt, and jeans and quickly dressed before sitting down on the chair to lace up his boots. Dressed and determined, bolstered by his newfound energy, he slipped out the side entrance of Joshua's cabin and proceeded to the trunk of the Impala.

He reached under the frame of the car for the magnetic key case that held a spare set of keys. He unlocked the trunk and took what he needed.

_Sam will take good care of you, girl. Just don't go letting him work on you. He may be a college whiz-kid, but he don't know an alternator from a distributor. Make sure he takes you to Bobby if you need any work done. _

Dean patted his baby, his final goodbye voiced only in his head. He took off at a dead run towards the woods. His surging vigor giving him boundless strength and energy, the final gift of this bite, the speed and fortitude to escape his family and do what needed to be done.

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Sam panicked as he stared at his brother's empty bed. He felt the bed and it was cool to his touch. He raced out of the room straight to his dad's room, bursting through the door.

"Where is he? What did you do to him?" He screamed at his dazed father who had been sitting quietly staring out the window, his vacant mind lost in a world of could have been's and should be's. John snapped to attention, his mind suddenly alert.

"Sam, what are you yelling? What's wrong?"

"Dean's gone. What did you do?"

John rushed to his feet, running down the hall to Dean's room. He stood in the open doorway staring at the empty bed. Terror filled his eyes as his hands massaged his face, trying to relieve the tension that was gripping him, trying to make some sense of this situation.

"Sam, when did you last see him? Sam, **answer me!**" John ordered, his voice low and rumbling, fear driving his words.

Joshua heard the commotion and came running.

"Sam, **when**?" John repeated.

"I haven't seen him since his seizure. He sent me away. He wanted to be alone." Sam replied with a stunned, grave tone.

"John, do you think he heard us?" Joshua asked.

"Heard you? What could he have heard? **What were you saying?**" Sam was screaming now, knowing in his heart his dad was somehow to blame for this.

"Sam, enough. We need to find him. He couldn't have gotten far." John replied.

"I asked you a question. What were you saying? Joshua, will you tell me?" Sam pleaded.

"Sam, it's more important to find your brother. Do you hear me? I'll answer your questions _after _we find Dean." John decreed.

"John, you better check to see if any weapons are missing." Joshua added with a concerned look on his face.

John had not wanted to even consider the possibility, but he knew Joshua was right. He quickly exited to the Impala and checked the weapons container. He knew every weapon and exactly where it belonged, he instantly knew the Glock pistol was missing along with several silver bullets.

"Sam, do you have the Glock?" John asked.

"No."

The silence hung in the air, mocking them as their terror increased. Silence sure could be a bitch. Sam stood paralyzed with fear, tears forming in his eyes as the implication hit home.

"Dad, why would Dean take the gun? What the hell did you say? Tell me. **TELL ME!**"

John turned and walked away. He couldn't face Sam now, he couldn't face himself. He should have realized with Dean's heightened senses he might have been able to overhear them. He should have known Dean would do the same thing he himself would do in his situation. He should have seen that Dean would try to save him from the bitter task and do it himself. _Damn, why am I so blind?_

Determination filled his gut as he set about tracking his son. He needed to be quick, Dean would try to get as far away as possible, but if his strength waned he would end it wherever he happened to be. John had to reach him before that moment.

Dean had misunderstood, all hope was not lost, there was still a slight glimmer of hope and the Winchesters only need the slightest hope to come out victorious. They had done it too many times previously, beaten the odds, and this was not going to be any different. He had to get to Dean in time to prove that to him, to stop him.

Dusk would be upon them in a few hours and the full moon would be rising. He needed to stop Dean from using that gun and he needed to stop him from rising up and howling at the moon. Joshua had concocted his last desperate injection that would either cure him or kill him. It was strong and its effect was a calculated risk, but John knew it would work, it had to. It was their last desperate hope.

"Sam, Dean thinks it's hopeless. He took the gun to end this, to save us from him turning. We have to find him and give him Joshua's last injection. I need you to be strong."

Sam just nodded at his dad, too spent to argue any more, and too terrified to voice his fears.

They armed themselves with dart guns to subdue Dean if need be. They also loaded silver bullets into their handguns, just in case.

"Sam, if you see a wolf you shoot to kill, you hear me? Don't even consider your brother. If he has already turned then he is dead to us anyway, you hear me? Don't go getting yourself killed. He wouldn't want that. Do you understand?" John issued his final orders.

"Yes, sir."

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Five miles away Dean slowed to a jog, finally relaxing from the distance he had put between himself and his deathbed. The fresh air and warm sun on his face invigorated him, all his senses coming alive and infusing his soul and mind with the joys of living as he shook off the stench of death that had enveloped him as he waited for the reaper at Joshua's.

He had never before felt so alive. These last moments on earth were turning into an intense sensory overload. Every fiber of his being was on fire with the wonders of life. Every sight, sound, smell and touch magnified and enhanced, his mind bursting with the memories he was bombarding it with.

He could hear the birds' wings fluttering as they cut through the still air overhead and he could see the tiny bee buzzing by the flowers collecting its nectar thirty feet away. He could smell the distinct aroma of every individual flower and the scent of rain due any moment. All these wonders were easily within his grasp and he devoured them, unable to sate his appetite for the flavors of this earth.

The trout gliding through the babbling stream nearby were distinct and vivid in his mind and he was drawn to them. He stood on the bank of the stream watching them swim and with one swift motion reached down and snatched up a trout with his bare hand. The large fish squirmed within his grip, struggling for freedom, desperate to live. He peered into the glassy eyes for a moment before returning it to the sanctity of the water, not wishing to cause it harm, knowing all life was precious now.

His mind opened up and embraced all these wondrous events, reveling in the simple pleasure of existing in this remarkable world. All the facets of life that he had never had time or need to explore at last opening up a brave new world to him, a place of beauty and intricacy. What an amazing world he lived in, and how fortunate to finally realize that as he prepared to die.

Suddenly he fully understood one of the lessons from his youth. Mrs. Denton, his high school English teacher and the only teacher he had ever connected with, would be so very proud. She was a fireball and loved life with a passion he had never before witnessed. She almost succeeded in opening him up to the possibilities of life. In two short months she exposed him to thoughts and ideas he had never before contemplated, quite a considerable task under the circumstances of his life.

Sam thought he never read books, and he mainly didn't, much easier waiting for the movie to come out; but he _had _read books under her guidance and even more shocking had actually _enjoyed_ them. She revealed a world he never knew existed, a world of beauty void of the evil he was so used to observing. She shared her passion with books and in so doing opened his shuttered heart just a fraction.

Ultimately, she forged a place for herself deep in his wounded heart alongside his mom. She was fighting cancer even as she struggled to continue teaching her classes. Her determination pressing her onward even as her body failed her. Her funeral was the only one he ever attended.

Previously and since, he had known many who died, in their line of work death was inevitable. Still, funerals are for the living, and hunters don't have time to live or mourn, there is always more evil waiting to be vanquished.

He thought back now to her teachings and he remembered one line in particular that had never made more sense then it did right now, in this moment in time, as he stood between his life and his impending death.

"_The morning star always shines brightest just before the dawn." _

She had spoken those words to him the last time he saw her, just before she died. He now understood. The only difference being, he was shining brightest just before the dusk, just before the full moon would transform him and Dean Winchester would cease to exist.


	11. Five Stages

_**It is a blessing to die for a cause, because you can so easily die for nothing.**_

**- Andrew Young**

Chapter Eleven - Five Stages

As Dean squinted into the red tinged sun sinking lower in the sky, a peaceful calm embraced him. It amazed him how he had progressed through the five stages of dying so quickly and effortlessly. _All things considered!_

Then he remembered he had actually passed over a few of them. He never was one to follow the rules, why start now?

Denial didn't last long, as a hunter he had seen too much to in turn be able to deny much. He knew the ugly truth of this world. He had seen first hand what good men refused to believe. How was this any different? He was a realist. He stopped believing in fairytales when he was four years old. He had seen the harsh reality of death, up close and personal. _The reaper comes for us all, don't it brother?_

Anger hadn't really been an issue. Sammy would live. How could he be angry about the cost? After all, it was a price he was more than willing to pay. A price he would pay ten times over if need be. Dean needed Sam to live and he would, that was all that mattered. He understood the ways of the world and the danger therein. He had lived with danger and death his entire life. One thing he learned early on was to control his emotions, anger in a battle was only gonna get you killed. _Oh yeah, good to remember! _

Bargaining he had left to his dad, he hadn't seen any point to it. Oh, he'd cursed God a few times and briefly wondered why, but since he really didn't believe in God, striking a bargain hadn't seemed too feasible, basically just a waste of time and energy. Time was too precious to squander on futile deals and with his energy just now returning to him, he'd be damned if he'd waste his last moments on useless haggling.

Depression could sure be a bitch, but that really wasn't his style. The Winchester way was to deny your feelings, bury your pain, and focus on doing your job. With his life on the precipice of that infinite, black abyss, he wasn't in the mood to analyze his life and fret over regrets by picking at old wounds and confronting repressed emotional issues. Ignoring them had always worked before, why mess with success? He had a job to focus on, the job of dying. Holding himself together and accomplishing that simple task took all the fortitude he possessed.

Acceptance, yeah that one he could relate to. After all, people had been dying since the beginning of time. If they could do it, he figured he could too. If it was going to happen, he might as well just accept the inevitable and move on. _The question being, move on to where and what?_

Then he considered if his ability to just accept his fate had anything to do with the fact he hadn't really been living to begin with. Maybe he had ceased to exist all those years ago when Mom died. Perhaps he had just been pretending to carry on all this time.

Maybe he just hadn't accepted _he _was just like Dad. Dad had stopped living the moment Mom died, Dean was the main witness to his death. He saw the change in his dad and it scared him; knowing the father who had hugged him, loved him and thrown the baseball with him, the man who had been so full of life previously had all but disappeared. He had observed the death of his dad when his will to live vanished, replaced by a blinding need for vengeance.

And then he considered the real truth, the best part of him died when Sam announced he was leaving him to go off to school. His will to go on had been severely damaged, and he wondered if he could live without his brother to protect and shelter. If he _had_ truly died when he heard the devastating truth of his brother's plans, then maybe this was just his body finally catching up with his spirit.

_Damn, I can be such a melancholy bastard!_

Then he reconsidered one last time, perhaps he _was _still stuck at denial.

_Guess I need a little more time to think this through. You listening there God? Can you give me some time to figure this bitch out? Not that I'm bargaining with you, mind you. I was just wondering._

Damn, this was getting him nowhere fast. He best head on back to acceptance and leave it at that.

A motion off in the woods diverted his attention back to the present as his eyes scanned the tree line, focusing in on a solitary figure staring at him, sizing him up. A beautiful, young woman slowly made herself known, hesitantly walking towards him, watching him to gauge his intentions.

It would be considered unusual for anyone to be out alone in these woods at this time of the day, let alone two separate persons each striking out on their own, yet somehow ending up together in this one place. Perhaps fate was playing one last cruel trick on him. Dean gazed upon her with curiosity, her essence familiar, her movements telling.

She regarded him with suspicion at first, carefully evaluating his actions. After a few moments to ponder him, she seemed content he would do her no harm. She continued onward toward him, smiling a dazzling smile, her brilliant red hair flowing loose and free in the breeze, shimmering in the light of the setting sun.

She finally crossed the distance between them and stood tall before him. She was a stunning girl, late teens or early twenties with an athletic, statuesque build. She was perhaps only an inch or two shorter than him, as perfect as a model with her flawless skin and timeless beauty.

She literally took his breath away. Her white cotton dress like thin gauze in the setting light, allowing the majesty of her form to show through. If he was the sort to believe in angels then he was sure this is what an angel would look like, yet he instinctively knew she was no heavenly being. _Man, if I wasn't going to die, I would be having the time of my life tonight. Damn! _

"Hi! I'm Rachel. What are you doing out here?"

Dean considered his choices. He could hardly tell her the truth, 'Oh, I'm out here waiting to die. Just thought I'd get some fresh air and smell the roses before I shuffle off this mortal coil.' _Hey Mrs. D, bet you're still proud huh? I haven't been this literary since, well since, before you died._

"Just went for a run. Needed some fresh air."

"You have a name?"

"Doesn't everyone?" Dean smiled, relieved to be able to fall back into his old games, his trustworthy, smartass responses for a moment, before he again had to face his future. _Or lack thereof._

"Care to share?"

"Sure. I'm Dean. Glad to know you, Rachel." He smiled his killer smile. _Oh, you are so working it there Dean. _

She was a fetching girl and he was relieved to have someone attractive to cast his eyes upon, his last glimpse of perfection in this world as his heightened vision drew in every flawless feature and reveled in her beauty. _Hey, God. You sure you can't spare me one last night?_

"Care for some company? I was just going for a walk in the woods; take in all the wonders of the forest. It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

Her eyes were inviting, Dean knew under different circumstances they would be getting to know each other _much_ better. He could sense she was a wild one, and together they could blister the night with their passion. The image in his mind was awe-inspiring but as much as he would love one last fling, one last moment of sexual bliss…._Wow, can you imagine what it would feel like with my heightened senses? Man, this is so not fair!_

_No_, he knew he no longer had time to consider such pursuits. His fantasies would have to do; the reality was his time was running out. He had one final mission to accomplish, one final act to insure Sam's safety. With bitter regret he knew he had to leave and fulfill his duty.

He hoped Sam would understand and forgive him for what he was about to do. Sam could be so innocent sometimes, so naïve about the true ways of the world and so blind to its harsh realities. Damn, but his brother sure could be obstinate. Like him deciding to go off to college. He knew no pleading or coercion would convince his brother to abandon his dreams. _That's why I admire you, little brother. _

_Yeah, that's my Sammy._ He always knows what he wants and he goes for it. He had never known anyone as single minded as Sam, except of course Dad. Funny how much alike those two were. His brother really was just a younger version of Dad, a more innocent version that hadn't had his life ripped apart by evil. Dean hoped he never did, maybe he should be happy for Sam to go off to college, to leave this hunting life behind. Maybe that _was_ his only chance at a happy life.

What was really amusing is neither his brother nor his dad could see how alike they truly were. They fought like warriors on opposite sides in a battle, men of strong beliefs divided over fundamental issues, yet they were the same side of the coin. They were the mirror image of each other.

_Why am I the only one to see it? Why am I the one always stuck in the middle of their fights? Guess it's not really that amusing, is it? Certainly not for me. Sometimes I think their battles will be the death of me. Ha, Ha, good one Dean! Guess you can let go of that worry._

"Sorry, did you hear me? I asked if you wanted some company." She sweetly repeated her question, drawing Dean back into the conversation at hand.

"I would love to, but I can't. I need to get on back now. Sorry." Dean finally admitted to himself this flirtation was over. It couldn't go anywhere and he needed to put some distance between them. He didn't need any witnesses for what he was about to do. The more distance between them the better.

She smiled sweetly at him and watched as he jogged away.

He again ran flat out, marveling at his abilities and stamina. Man, if they could just bottle this, people would pay anything to feel this strong and alive, invincible really. Whatever it was coursing through his system had to be more mind-blowing than all the drugs kids do nowadays. This just had to be the best drug ever.

Not that he had anything to compare it too, aside from one reckless encounter with marijuana when he was fourteen. That's all it took, one moment of being out of control, one time at being less than vigilant and ready for battle. He didn't like the feeling. He didn't like the thoughts that swamped his mind when he realized what could have happened. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was always being in control, of handling any situation that might arise. _Of always being ready to protect Sammy. _

The hunter in him, forever alert for danger, had thereafter steered clear of any and all drugs. Hell, he often avoided the pain meds when his body burned in agony, just so he could maintain his edge, his control. _Yeah, gotta maintain your control there Dean, can't let the fates determine your future. A man makes his own future. A man casts his own fate. Yeah, you used to believe that._

His duty dictated his decisions, his training and dedication always took precedence over any desire to experiment. This was a new sensation for him, an unbridled leap into the sensory world. One final hurrah, one last attempt at living on the edge of the abyss, dancing perilously close, peering deep within it, waiting for the darkness to reach up and pull him in. This was his last glimpse at life before he would fall headlong into that abyss, before the completion of his transformation and the cessation of his being.

_Guess every great drug has a side effect. This one's a real killer._


	12. Heart of the Matter

**_I knew a man once who said, "Death smiles at us all; All a man can do is smile back."_**

**- Maximus in Gladiator**

Chapter Twelve - Heart of the Matter

Dean sprinted until he spotted a barn standing forlorn in the distance. A worn, dusty, falling down barn, the last remnant of an old homestead, and the last testament to a frontier family that tried to tame this wild land. In the coming darkness, it would have to do. His final resting place.

He pushed open the swinging door, half hanging with a broken hinge at the bottom. He walked in gazing in the dim light at the broken stalls and abandoned equipment. Nothing of value left here amongst the ruins. _How appropriate, a place with no worth, yeah, this will do._

He settled into a corner, his back pressed up against the wall, watching the sun through the western window as it started to dip lower in the sky. He could feel his energy starting to ebb, his senses beginning to diminish. His time was almost at hand. His mind still cherishing all his memories, all the emotions and the wonders he had been bombarded with, yet he felt his grasp on this life slipping. The energy he had exerted now catching up to him as his body suddenly felt worn out. _It won't be long now._

He pulled the gun from the waistband of his jeans and caressed it. He always liked this gun, it was sleek and smooth and an accurate shot. It fit in his hand, like a glove made to order. He realized he was dooming this gun to his same fate, Sam and Dad would never want to use this gun again.

As determined as he was, he gradually realized he was hesitating. He didn't want to leave Sammy, he didn't want to abandon his dad and his mission, and he wasn't ready to leave the wonders of this earth. _Damn, I have to be strong; I know what needs to be done._

Minutes ticked on and still he waited….wanting to savor every last possible moment, every last sensation, and every memory, good or mundane, before tumbling into that black abyss.

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John and Sam took off in pursuit of Dean and quickly picked up his trail. John was an expert tracker and although Dean was skilled in covering his tracks, he had not taken the time or effort to do so. Obviously he was counting on time to be his greatest ally; if Sam had not discovered his brother was missing when he did they would not have this chance to stop him.

They moved quickly, knowing time was of the essence, amazed at how much ground Dean had managed to cover in such a short while. A major change must have come over him to allow such an exertion of energy. Joshua had warned John his strength would return in the final stages of his transformation. _One last reminder, the end was coming._

They stopped just to the side of the woods, baffled momentarily as two distinct tracks converged there. Dean had met up with someone, someone with a light walk just like his. John sensed something sinister with this second party, the way it moved, the way it seemed to be stalking his son. All his training warned him this new player was a danger to them, a danger to Dean.

With a heavy heart he had to make a choice. He gave the life saving syringe to Sam and sent him on his brother's trail and he proceeded after the other's. His gut telling him this was their only course of action, his instincts driving his decision.

"Sam, remember what I told you. If he's turned, you shoot to kill."

Sam just stared at his dad, refusing to acknowledge the dire tone of his words.

"Sam, answer me. You understand?"

"Yes, sir."

John clasped his hand on his son's shoulder. It was meant to be a reassuring sign of solidarity and support, Sam shirked it off and took off on his brother's trail. John steeled his nerves and jogged off in a similar path on the trail of this mystery person.

As the dark clouds overhead stirred ominously, Sam nervously watched the sun as it approached the tree line, knowing once it dipped below the horizon his time would be up, Dean's time would be over. He increased his speed, grateful Dean had pushed him all those years to run track against him, pushed him to try to keep up with his older brother. Thankful for once that his long legs were getting him that much closer to Dean.

Up ahead he saw a broken down barn and he _knew_ Dean was there. For once he could see the symmetry of his brother's thinking. Dean would deem that desolate old barn an acceptable place to die, he was sure of it.

He pushed open the creaky door and tried to peer inside, the darkness obscuring his vision. Silently he prayed he was not too late. He called out to Dean and received no response. He walked further in and again tried to make out any forms in the darkness. He heard heavy, labored breathing. _Thank God!_

Again he tried to connect with his brother, "Dean?"

Silence.

Then he heard a growl, a low frightening snarl, the fierce sounds of a beast, the sounds of a killer approaching.

"Dean? _Please_, you can fight this. I _know_ you can."

He raised up his gun, but his hand was shaking so badly he knew he would never be able to fire it, not at his brother. It didn't matter what had taken over his brother, he was _still_ Dean. He was still his protector, regardless of what Dad or nature thought, he _knew_ Dean would never hurt him, he _couldn't_ hurt him. _I know you won't hurt me. Dean?_

The only light shining into the barn illuminated a small stretch in the middle of the floor. Sam startled as a wolf appeared before him, fierce and wild. A sight more frightening then any creature they had ever faced in their battles with evil, more terrifying than the Demon, more horrifying than Satan himself. His greatest fear realized, as he came face to face with the violent reality of his brother's transformation. _Oh God, Dean!_

In that moment all his training deserted him as he froze in his tracks, unable to follow his dad's orders, unable to take his brother's life regardless of what that life had become. In an instant, he made the only decision he could make, he chose his own death over the death of his brother. He knew he could not live with the knowledge he had murdered his own brother, so he took the only way out he could, the noble way out. He closed his eyes and waited for the end.

He felt the beast approaching and braced for the assault, still hoping his brother's essence would win out over this bestial influence, still stubbornly believing his brother's love for him would prevail. He felt the air move past him as the beast lunged and then a single shot rang out. His eyes opened wide in terror as the beast collapsed to the ground in front of him. With one last whimper the wolf stilled and he knew it was over, his brother was dead. He sank to the ground trembling, cursing the fates, wailing over his brother's death, tears once more filling his anguished eyes.

John ran to his son, pulling him to his feet, checking him over for any sign of injury, relieved that at least one of his sons had escaped harm's way. He pulled him to his chest, holding on for all he was worth, tears filling his own eyes. For once Sam hugged him back, desperate for the comfort of his dad's arms around him, desperate for _any_ comfort to relieve the pain that was consuming him.

"Sam, are you hurt?"

"No." Sam pushed away from his dad, his eyes again filled with pain and fury. Now looking on his dad as a murderer, he stumbled away from him. "Why? Why did you shoot him? Why?" Sam cried out, tears overwhelming him.

"I didn't."

"What? I don't understand."

They paused and looked around the dark barn, finally resting their eyes in a murky corner opposite the door. Heavy breathing confirmed the gunman was lurking there. Whoever had fired the deadly bullet must be one of their kind, since he had used the necessary means to kill this werewolf. Another hunter, perhaps? As despondent as John was over losing Dean, he had to be grateful Sam was saved.

Their eyes then returned to the still form of the werewolf. With resignation, they waited for Dean to return to them, waited for his body to transform once more so they would at least have a body to salt and burn. Then they could at least mourn his passing.

The anxiety tore through John as the fear that had gnawed in his gut for the past week finally come to pass. He felt his legs give way beneath him as he sunk down to his knees beside the body, waiting. His heart beating wildly, his despair so intense he was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. He concentrated his mind on the job at hand. _I have to be strong now for Sam. Oh God, Dean!_

The fur of the beast started to dim and skin once more shown through, the body finally released from its bestial prison, finally returning to its previous human form. The features of the human within the beast slowly became evident. Brilliant red hair laying softly against flawless ivory skin shocked the hunters and they both gasped as a woman's naked body emerged in the form, curled up upon herself, looking almost peaceful in slumber.

Their eyes returned to the dark space harboring the shooter.

"Dean?" John breathlessly asked, hoping his suspicions were true. _Please God, let it be him._

"Her name was Rachel. She didn't ask for this. She didn't deserve this."

"I know son. You don't deserve this either. Let me help you."

"Dad, get Sammy out of here. Please."

"Dean, we can save you. Let us."

"Dad, it's too late, you _know _it. It's already begun; I can feel it taking control. I don't have much time; I _need_ to do this. Please leave. I can handle this…, just let me handle this. Please Dad." Dean begged, feeling his strength waning and knowing he needed to act quickly before his resolve broke down and the beast won out.

"Dean, we have a shot that will cure you. You need to let me give it to you."

"No. Stay back. I don't want you to see this, but if you come any closer I won't have a choice. I'm sorry. I know I screwed this whole thing up."

"Dean, don't do this. _Please_." Sam begged, his relief that his brother was not the beast lying at his feet replaced by the fear of Dean's intentions.

"Sammy, please leave. I don't want to hurt you. I never wanted to see you hurt."

"Is that why you pushed me out of the way of that werewolf? Is that way you sacrificed yourself to protect me?" Sam quizzed.

"Sammy, that's my job, to protect you."

"I don't want you _dying_ for me. Why would you think that?"

"Cause I love you Sammy. I told you that. If it comes to a choice, it's _always _gonna be you bro. I want you to live. I want you to have everything you ever wanted. Will you do that for me? Will you live?"

"But I don't want to live without _you_. I need _you_. Why would you do that?"

"Big brother's prerogative. It's my right cause I'm the oldest, and that means you've got to follow my orders. Don't waste your life grieving for me. That's no good…. Don't be like Dad, OK? You're better than that. You can move on, right? I want you to _live _ Sammy, really _live_. You do that for me, OK?"

"Dean, trust me, this new shot will save your life. You don't have to die son. Let me come in. Just let me show you." John pleaded, trying to break through to his son's reason.

"Stay back Dad. I told you, I don't want you to see this, please leave now. I need to…."

"Dean, you listen to me." Sam stated more forcefully than he had ever spoken to his brother before. "Let Dad save you, _please_. I don't want you to die for me. Do you _hear_ me?... Do you _want _to die? Is that it? Do you just want to get it over with? Cause that's what it sounds like. It sounds like you just want to give up! That's not my brother…. My brother fights, he has all his life. He doesn't quit, he _fights_!"

"Sammy, there's nothing left to fight with. I don't want to _die _for you…., I want you to _live_ for me."

"Dean, you can live for yourself, just let Dad give you this shot. Please. Please _try _to live for me." Sam begged, tears rolling down his cheeks as he proceeded to walk into the shadows to face his brother.

"Sammy please, don't."

"If you're gonna do it, you'll have to make me watch. Are you willing to do that to me Dean? Are you willing to make me watch you die?"

"Sammy, don't." Dean wavered, his mind suddenly cloudy, his hand unsure, his resolve shaken. _I'm so confused here, what am I doing?_

As Sam moved closer the light from the side window gradually revealed his brother's still form. Dean was sitting on the ground with his back pressed up against the wall, his knees drawn up before him with the gun resting steady on them, both hands tightly wrapped around the grip, the barrel of the gun pointed at his heart, his finger trembling on the trigger. Sam gasped when he saw him.

"Dean, don't let this be how I remember you. _Please_. I need my brother, I need _you_. Don't do this, let Dad help you."

Dean looked up at his brother's pleading eyes and knew he could never subject him to this sight. He knew there was no hope for him; he still knew he was going to die. They were just postponing the inevitable, and his failure to accomplish his mission would only force his dad to later handle the problem. But in that moment he relented. He now knew he wasn't dying here in this place, and his brother would not have to bear witness to his demise, not like this. He clicked on the safety and placed the gun on the floor beside him.

"Sammy, I'm so sorry."

As soon as he heard the click of the safety, John rushed to his son's side. Dean looked half dead already, his eyes dimmed and vacant, his breathing pained and labored, his senses shutting down, preparing his mind for death, the effects of this bite bringing him to the brink of the abyss. The beast within waiting with bated breath, ready to inhabit his body the instant his spirit abandoned it.

John took the syringe from Sam and laid his older son down. One last, final shot. One last, final hope. He prayed his deepest, most heartfelt prayer at that moment as he prepared to inflict the last pain his son might ever know. He pulled up Dean's t-shirt and released the waistband of his jeans to once more gain access to his abdomen.

"Dean, I'm sorry for the pain, but this will work. I know it." John soothed.

Dean didn't even flinch when he inserted the needle into the still bruised and tortured stomach. Dean was numb all over now; he barely heard his dad's last words to him as he drifted off into the black mist.

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**Thanks again to all the readers and reviewers on this story. Your support has been a tremendous gift. Thank you, B.J.**


	13. Vigil

_**Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome.**_

**_- _Isaac Asimov**

Chapter Thirteen – Vigil

A clasp of thunder shook the sky and the torrential rains came down with a fury as the heavens unleashed their wrath, pounding the dirt trail from the barn to the Impala into a soupy mud within minutes. Jagged bolts of lighting lit up the dusk as John wrapped his wasted son in his strong arms and headed out to the Impala, his feet heavy with the mud trying to impede his progress.

One urgent phone call and Joshua had driven Dean's car up to the derelict barn to transport them back to his cabin. As John placed his son in the back seat he studied the rain soaked features of his face. His strong, handsome face was devoid of any expression, he almost looked peaceful, as if just in slumber. John knew looks were deceiving; his son was engaged in the fight of his life, the ultimate fight _for _ his life.

Ten hours later as delirium wracked his body, his unconscious mind was preparing to take him on a final journey over his life, a last look at the mighty and fragile Dean Winchester. He truly was a dichotomy of contrasts. He _was_ the brave and fearless warrior who faced down evil every day, never wavering and always persevering; yet buried deep within was the terrified four year old boy softly crying through the night, hoping the evil he had witnessed first hand was all a dream and his mom would wake him from his nightmare.

He was _forever the protector_, doing anything necessary to protect and comfort his younger brother and keep his family intact, vigilant in his duty, deadly in his actions; and yet hidden behind the mask he had so carefully fabricated, he was the sensitive, damaged child seeking reassurance from his absent father that he was loved and he himself was safe and protected from all harm. A reassurance that seldom came and he had learned long ago to forgive the lapse and still faithfully believe in the wisdom and strength of that same father.

Dean tenaciously held undying faith in his dad and as long as he held true to his beliefs, he could face this twisted world. His belief in Dad and his need to protect Sammy the only things keeping him tethered to reality in the evil world he now dwelt in.

Dean was shaking from the fever and chills consuming his body. Sweat beaded on his face and saturated his straining chest. He was lost in agitation, buried deep within himself, oblivious to the presence of his dad and brother once more united in their concern for him. They sat on opposite sides of his bed, sat in silence, waiting and hoping.

The full moon had risen and subsequently set and he had remained Dean. The previous signs of his transformation had receded back into memory. The nails on his fingers were once more normal, his eyes when prodded open were not filled with an animal's rage but were instead sad, hollow human eyes. He was still Dean and would remain as such; the only question now being, would he live?

Joshua could offer no further hope than to say it all depended on Dean now. His body had engaged in the ultimate battle and he had won, now time and his own inner strength and fortitude would determine if the fight had drained too much of his energy for his spirit to survive.

His breathing was ragged and shallow as his body struggled onward. Sam would on occasion rise to his brother's lips listening to make sure air was still passing between them. At other times he would place his hand on his chest, waiting for the slight rise and fall to indicate he was still alive, still breathing, still fighting.

John sat in his chair with his hands clasping his throbbing head, rubbing his temples in slow, steady circles, lost in his own world of regret and despair. Wondering how he had ever let this all happen, reliving Sam's previous angry words and vowing that if he is given a second chance he will be more vigilant. He will never again let his son tread this close to death; he will protect him at all cost.

The pain and guilt of past slights and neglects, of hurts inflicted on both his sons in anger and indifference filled his brain and made his headache worsen with every passing minute Dean remained unconscious. All the times he had put his boys second, behind whatever evil he had been hunting, coming back to haunt him as the realization hit that his boys were always first, that he had simply forgotten and fallen victim to the immediacy of the hunt. _Lord knows, I've made mistakes. Give me the chance to make it up to my boys, both my boys._

And yet the reality was John could envision no other life. In the beginning, for a split second, he had tried to forget the evil that stalked his family. He had rashly attempted to put all their pain and suffering behind them, but that had been a fool's hope. Evil _wanted_ his family and would keep coming to claim them, and he _needed_ satisfaction against those evil sons of bitches that destroyed his last chance at a happy life.

His mind and soul demanded vengeance and evil seemed to goad him onward whenever he strayed from that path. Evil lusted for this fight as much as he did, so in his family's defense his only option was to attack with everything he had.

Dean understood they were engaged in a war and there was no opportunity for surrender and a peaceful outcome. Surrender meant death, retreating meant death, ignoring the obvious and pretending to live a normal life meant certain death. Their only choice was to fight, fight with everything they possessed for as long as they could stand and bear arms.

Sam would just have to accept the truth, the inevitability of their participation in this war with evil. Evil would not accept anything less. Evil was not about to back down or surrender, regardless of how menacing the Winchester men could be. This was a fight to the death and it was John's duty to prepare his sons for their part in this cosmic battle.

Sam seemed oblivious to the whole, universal theme of good verses evil. Refusing to acknowledge the larger aspect, he focused on his brother's lone fight with one deadly werewolf. He only saw the personal pain of his brother's sacrifice in his dad's war against evil. Sam could only think of the agony of losing his big brother in this final, absolute way: a reckless, needless sacrifice that didn't change anything except for the fact that Dean might surrender his life.

Now faced with losing his brother in this tragic manner, he wondered how he had ever thought he could leave Dean. Dean was the best part of himself. His brother had given himself totally over the past eighteen years. Dean was _everything_. He had been the best brother anyone could ever imagine and Sam shuddered to think of losing that. _And I almost willingly threw it away. What kind of brother am I? How could I be so selfish? Dean, I'm so sorry for hurting you like that, please.., don't leave me._

Sam's eyes were now wasted, red pools of despair, his tears long since drained from his body. He could no longer produce any fresh tears. Even his energy had waned as if he had gathered any strength and might he held and channeled them into his brother's spirit, hoping that together they could fight this cure that had saved him, but left his exhausted body perilously close to death.

Dean had always been the energizer rabbit, had always possessed infinite strength and determination yet his battery was now discharged and he lay on his bed like a broken toy. They used to joke that Dean could function on coffee and a bag of M & M's for days, weeks if need be. His passion alone enough to fuel his body. _Come on now Dean, show me what you've got. I know you can beat this. I know you can._

"John, Sam, here are some sandwiches. You need to eat." Joshua entered the room with a tray of food and drinks.

"I'm not hungry." Sam responded.

"Sam, Josh is right. You need to eat." John instructed as he took a sandwich for himself.

"I said, I'm _not _hungry."

"Sam! I don't want to fight with you. Not now. _Please_." John looked up at his son, locking eyes with him and exerting his will once more.

Sam stared back at him, revealing his own will and refusing to bend to his father's wishes.

"Sam, you need to eat. You getting weak and sick is not going to help Dean, you know that. Do as your father says." Joshua pleaded.

Sam grabbed a sandwich, still glaring at his dad before returning his gaze to his brother's still form.

As Dean lay dying, hovering between life and death, his family once more drew up arms in battle. A battle of wills ensued that had no real purpose except to display the stubborn pride and unwavering determination of the two people Dean was counting on to pull him back to the side of life. The tension in the room magnified and Dean subconsciously moved ever so slightly in his bed.

Both men sat on their chairs, uneaten sandwiches gripped in their hands, all their attention once again focused on the still body lying in the bed, drifting further away, shifting unconsciously away from the sounds of the battle. The shallow breathing once more becoming the focus of all attention.

Minutes, hours and finally a full day passed with no change in his condition. Dean showed no sign of reviving, but he had not made a turn for the worse either. He was suspended in time, trapped between his life and his death, not yet living, but at least not dying. John took what little comfort he could in that.

Joshua determined they would need to hook him up to an IV drip within another day if he didn't improve on his own. He couldn't just remain in this unresponsive state unattended. Dehydration and other complications could hasten his decline if left unchecked.

The longer he remained in this state the further away a full recovery seemed. John took to talking to his son when Sam finally fell into a restless sleep. This might be his last opportunity to tell his son all the dreams and hopes he had long buried concerning his sons. How he had never wanted this life for his boys. How circumstances beyond his control had shaped the lives they now lead. _Damn, I want you to have that normal life Dean; I want you to have a home again. I want so much for you…._

"You know Dean, when you were a boy….Hell, when _was_ the last time you were a boy? Must have been that night, when you carried your brother out of our old house…. You grew up so fast after that… Every time I looked in your eyes, I saw the pain of that night, the pain of you losing your mom and it broke my heart….

I started not looking at you, cause I just couldn't bear to see what was in those eyes. I know it wasn't right and it wasn't fair, but I just couldn't stand to see how broken you were. I wanted to comfort you, I did…. Sammy thinks I'm a hardass and he's probably right, but every time I saw how hurt you were I just wanted to break down and cry, and I just couldn't let you see me like that….

You needed a father, a strong man to protect you, and God, I felt so weak and broken myself. I'd sneak a look at you sometimes and I could see you looking at me like I was your knight in shining armor ready to protect you, a hero or something…. You'd always looked at me like that and I loved it when we were a family…, when Mary was alive. Mary made me feel like I could do anything, that I _was_ powerful and strong, invincible really, and then I found out I couldn't even save my own wife….

I was such a mess, how could I let you see the real me? But you did, didn't you? Try as I might, I couldn't hide how devastated I was, and that just made me avoid your looks even more. I just didn't want you to see me like that, but I couldn't help it, I just couldn't.…

So you took charge of Sammy…, of me…, of our lives. You took care of us all, and I left you on your own, with no one to take care of you…. Oh, I eventually came around and put food on the table, most nights anyway. And I made sure you had a bed to sleep in, well again mostly. And you _never _complained, you never asked for anything unless you were asking for your brother. Never once did you ask for yourself. _Not once_." _God, what have I done?_

Dean mumbled and again shifted in his bed before once more settling into a peaceful rest. His fever and chills had long since disappeared, replaced by stillness and nothingness. He now lay on his bed as if just sleeping, silently passing the time with no motion or expression. _Waiting._ Waiting for his life to swell back up within him or vanish completely and deliver him to death.

"Dean, please wake up. Sammy says I sacrificed your life to wage my war on evil. He's wrong about that; I didn't sacrifice you out there in the woods. But I _did _sacrifice your childhood all those years ago. I made you grow into a man when you should have still been a boy. I stole your childhood from you and made you my soldier. Son, I'm sorry…. I still don't know what else I could have done; I had to make you strong enough to fight this war that was laid at our feet.…

I don't know…. I should have done _something_…. I should have at least made sure you were all right. I should have comforted you all those lonely nights, instead of you trying to console me. Dean, I'm so sorry for not being the Dad you deserved."

Dean stirred and again mumbled something John couldn't quite hear. He rose to his feet hoping his son was regaining consciousness. Dean's eyes were still tightly closed, his mouth incoherent in his mutterings.

Sam stirred from his rest in his sleeping bag on the floor.

"Did Dean say something?" He excitedly asked.

"He's mumbling. I can't make out what he's saying."

Sam stretched and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, slowly rising to gaze once more at the still form on the bed. Dean looked in peaceful slumber. Aside from the gaunt look to his face and the deathly still of his body he appeared to just be resting. Of course, Dean never slept on his back, so still, for this long.

His head moved ever so slightly as he again mumbled words, so soft his family could barely hear him. Sam leaned in next to his brother's mouth as he formed the words. Sam stood up, a shocked look on his face.

"What did he say? Sam? What?"

Tears again found Sam as they welled in his eyes.

"Sam, what did he say?"

"He said, 'Sorry Mrs. Denton.'"

"What? Who the hell is Mrs. Denton?"

"See, that's what I mean. You don't even _know_. You don't even _know_ your own son."

"Sam, please... tell me."

With contempt filling his eyes Sam looked at his dad once more. All the times John wasn't there when his sons needed him bubbling to the surface. All the memories of needing his dad only to find he was second, third or fourth best after the evil sons of bitches Dad always found more important, again driving home the fact his sons just didn't matter. Sam once more confronted the irrefutable fact that Dad chose fighting evil over being the father his sons deserved.

"Sam, _please_."

"Mrs. Denton was Dean's English teacher."

"What? Why would he speak of her? Why would he think of her now?"

"Maybe cause she's dead."

"Dead? How? Was it supernatural? Was she evil?"

"No. Why does everything with you have to be about the supernatural? She was good and important to Dean and she died. All right?"

"Sam…, _why_ was she important? Please, I _want_ to know."

"You never cared before."

"You're wrong…. I know I haven't always been there for you boys. I'm sorry, Sam…. Please, I _need_ to know."

"She was his favorite teacher and she got cancer and she died."

"Why was she important? What did he say about her?"

"You know Dean, he never actually said too much, but I knew."

"How? How did you know?"

"Well for one thing, he was going to the hospital every chance he got to visit her at the end."

"He did? Dean hates being around sick people."

"Yeah, well he was there all the time. He took books to read to her."

"Dean?"

"Yeah Dad, Dean. I bet there's lots you don't know about your son…, either of your sons."

"You're right. Sam…, what else?"

Sam paused, debating with himself how much he was willing to tell Dad at this late date. Wondering if he truly cared or was just covering the bases, protecting his ass.

"Dean wore a suit at her funeral."

"A suit? When was this?"

"I don't know, maybe six years ago. Yeah, Dean had just turned sixteen a couple months before. He was a pallbearer at her funeral."

"_What?_ Did you go to the funeral Sammy?"

"Yeah, I wanted to be there for my brother, to support him. I didn't really know Mrs. D, that's what he called her, Mrs. D., very well. I only met her a few times. She had us over to her house for a barbeque on New Years. She was real nice."

Sam studied his dad's face, he looked puzzled and shocked. Just like Sam had said all along, he didn't know his sons at all, didn't know where they went or who they spoke to, didn't know the important people in their lives, not that there were ever that many people they let into their lives. Dad didn't know anything except how skilled they were at taking down evil.

Maybe that was the saddest part of all, Dean hardly ever let anyone into his life, never let anyone get _close_ to him and here he finally had, and then she died. No wonder he shut himself off from people. She had been fighting a battle Dean was incapable of joining in to save her. _I think that's part of what hurt so bad. If it had been evil, Dean would have gone to hell and back to save her. With this, he was just lost, helpless, unable to do anything. Life sure can be cruel._

Dean would probably kill him for this, but since he was lying on his death bed and might never wake up, Sam decided to taunt him. _You got a problem with me telling Dad this, then you're just gonna have to wake up and show me. I dare you Dean, wake up and thrash me for revealing one of your secrets._

"Dean cried at the funeral…. and after."

"He did?"

"Yeah. He tried not to let me see, but I knew."

John collapsed in his chair again, once more realizing how much he had given up in his fight with evil. His son cried for a woman he had never even met, a woman who meant so much to him that he was still thinking about her six years later on possibly his death bed. _What else don't I know about my son? What else have I missed out on? What other secrets might my son take to his grave?_


	14. Journey

"**_Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?"_**

**- Clarence in It's a Wonderful Life**

Chapter Fourteen - Journey

"Dean, wake up now. Did you stay up late watching movies again? Doesn't your father give you a curfew?"

"What? No, I wasn't watching movies. What the hell?"

"Dean, I told you, that language will not do in my class. This is my house; you need to respect my rules."

"Yes ma'am. Sorry, Mrs. Denton…….What? Where am I? What the Fuc…, sorry Mrs. D. Aren't you dead? Am I ….?"

"No, not yet. This is where you decide which side you'll be on."

"You mean good or evil?"

"No, alive or dead."

"I have a choice?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"You'll find out. Let's take a journey."

"Where we going Mrs. D?"

"Let's take a look at your life. Have you ever examined your life? Really looked at it? Considered the choices you made and how they brought you to where you are? _Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --- I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference. _Why did you take the path you chose, Dean?"

"I didn't _have_ a choice. It was made for me."

"Dean, that's a cop out. You always have a choice."

"Yeah right, tell it to the drill sergeant."

"And who would that be?"

"Why, Dad of course. Look Mrs. D., no offense, but I don't think I should be discussing this with you. I don't think Dad would approve."

"Then we're in luck, your dad's not here. You can speak freely. So what do you want to tell me about your family?"

"Nothing…. Can I see them? Is Sammy all right?"

"Sammy's your brother as I recall. You were always very protective of him. Sounds like you still are. Why is that? Why are _you _ responsible for him? Isn't that your dad's job?"

"Dad's real busy. He has very important work. I help out all I can."

"Very noble of you Dean, but still, you _were_ quite young, who looked out for you?"

"I didn't need anyone looking out for me. I took care of myself."

"Uh huh. We'll get back to that. Now tell me about your brother. Tell me about Sam."

"Oh Sam, he's the best. He's so smart, a real brain, top of his class. Never takes the easy answer, always demanding to know why, always pushing for reasons, you know?"

"You admire that?"

"Well yeah, everyone admires Sam. I told you, he's the best."

"Does your dad admire him?"

"Oh yeah."

"What is it Dean? What else?"

"What? There's nothing else. Dad admires Sam, Dad loves Sam."

"He admires and loves you too, doesn't he?"

"Of course, he's my dad. Don't Dads love their sons?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"I'm not asking, I'm telling you. Dad _loves_ me."

"Does he admire you?"

"What's to admire?"

"You're a good son, aren't you?"

"I try. I do everything he asks of me…."

"Dean, we're alone, you can tell me. What's bothering you? _Please_, I'm your friend, you can tell me."

"Oh, it's nothing….It's just Dad doesn't really _look _at me. It's just sometimes… I don't think Dad really sees _me_, you know? Sometimes I don't see myself, I just do what's expected and I don't know where Dad's soldier ends and where I begin. I don't know, I just feel sometimes like…."

"Yes?"

"Oh hell, what's the point? Dad needs me to do a job and I do it. End of story."

"Dean, do you love your life?"

"What the hell? Sorry Mrs. D., what kind of question is that?"

"_You've got to love life to have life, and you've got to have life to love life….It's what they call a vicious circle. _Dean, do you love life? Do you want to live?"

"Hey, that's from Our Town. Sammy did that play when he was twelve. It was cute, he was good. He played the stage manager. Had a lot of lines to remember and he didn't forget any of them."

"Dean, we'll get back to that. Now answer my question."

"What question?"

"Do you love life? Do you want to live?"

"I need to protect Sammy; I need to keep my family from self-destructing. Yeah, I want to live."

"That's not what I asked. I asked if you loved your life."

"Look, it is what it is. This is getting us nowhere, am I living or dying?"

"We'll see."

"Mrs. D?"

"Yes Dean."

"Why are _you_ here? I mean, could it be anyone who's died? Could my mom have come?"

"You would have liked that?"

"Of course. Can she come now?"

"If she came would you want to stay with her? Would that influence your decision on living or dying?"

"I don't know…., maybe."

"I know."

"Let's talk about this play, Our Town. Do you remember studying it in my class?"

"Yeah, I liked it. It made a lot of sense."

"You know a lot of scholars early on dismissed it as sentimental and simple. Some even called it corny, said Wilder was preaching old-fashioned ideals to a modern world that was too sophisticated for his play."

"Just goes to show, some of those so-called great minds can't see the truth in anything."

"So you saw truth in the play?"

"Hell, yeah. You know, it had everything - life, death and everything in between."

"Yes, that's it in a nutshell. Very intuitive for such a young man, or I guess you were just a boy when you first saw it. How did you grasp the greatness of this play at such a young age when those so-called experts didn't?"

"Did they actually _see_ the play? And they didn't _get_ it? Beats me. Seemed damn straight to me, uh sorry."

"Most folks have to live enough of a life to really comprehend the significance of this play. Children usually don't have the life experience to understand all the subtle ramifications and truths. Why do you think you understood at such a young age?"

"I guess I'd lived. Hey, maybe I'm just an old soul!"

"Yes, I remember. You always seemed wise beyond your years, always seemed like you had seen far more than any boy of sixteen should ever bear witness to. What did you see, Dean?"

"I've seen stuff you wouldn't believe. Stuff I can hardly believe, but there it is staring back at you, kinda hard to deny. And I've seen people die…, lots of people."

"How sad. And you faced all this? Weren't you scared?"

"Sometimes…, but you just have to do what needs done. You just do the job. Someone has to stand up against evil, someone has to fight back."

"And that's what you do? You fight evil?"

"Yeah, the family business."

"So that's what your father does?"

"Yeah, that's why he's gone so much; evil doesn't exactly stop by the house and ask to get killed. You kinda have to go where it is."

"So, he seeks out evil to kill it? And he lets you do this with him?"

"Yeah, he trains us so we're prepared, so we can protect ourselves and help people. We've saved a lot of people."

"Like I said, very noble."

"Mrs. D, so what's the verdict here? Living or dying?"

"Are you afraid to die? Have you thought much about dying?"

"All I've thought about for the last five days. Yeah, _believe me_, I've thought about dying, kinda hard not to when you face it all the time…, especially lately."

"So…, are you afraid?"

"No. Not really…, at least not now. I mean, look at you, looking pretty good for being dead six years!"

"You always were a charmer. I treasured your visits to the hospital. You truly had empathy for those faced with death. You were a big comfort to me in my final days. Did I ever tell you that? You were. Your smile lit up the room when you came to visit me. The other patients in the ward would ask when my charming young man was coming to visit. They always looked forward to your visits, as did I."

"Really? Good. You know, I really thought you were gonna make it. You had such a passion for life; I just couldn't imagine how you couldn't."

"I know. I thought I was going to make it too, until the end. Then I knew. Everything became so clear in the end, I saw everything and I understood."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Nothing like facing the old reaper to get your priorities straight…. Mrs. D.., I miss you."

"I know."

"So what's it like? I mean do you come back and observe like Emily did or is it too hard? Man, I have a few people I'd like to spy on. That could get _very_ interesting!"

"Not really. Wilder had that right, the dead don't stay interested in living people for very long. Gradually, you lose hold of the earth…and the ambitions you had…and the pleasures you had… and the things you suffered…and the people you loved. You wait for the eternal part to come clear. So Dean, are you ready to forget everything you knew here on earth?"

"**No.** I told you I need to protect Sammy; I need to help my dad. I _have_ to go back, my family needs me. I _need_ to live. I have a job to do."

"Sorry Dean, that's not good enough."

"What the hell do you want from me? Sorry, but _what?_ Everyone always wants something."

"What do _you_ want, Dean? What do you _want_ for Dean?"

"I want my family to be safe. I want us to _be_ a family. Is that too much to ask?"

"Of course not, but there's _more._ There has to be more."

"Why? Why isn't that enough?"

"It's just not. Let's talk about your Dad."

"He doesn't like us talking about him unless we have to cover our trail. Not much to say anyway. He takes care of us and he loves us. That's all."

"Somehow, I _know_ there's more. Why does he leave you alone so much? Why didn't he come to school and talk to your teachers. You know, I never met him."

"I told you what he does. He doesn't have a lot of spare time. Evil never rests, you know? He has responsibilities."

"Isn't taking care of his sons his responsibility?"

"Look, we're fine. He does what he can and I take care of the rest."

"All right Dean, have it your way."

"It's not _my_ way; it's the way it _is_. Look…., Sammy's here."

"My, my he's certainly grown up, hasn't he? Do you still feel the need to protect him?"

"Of course, he's my brother. He needs me."

"What else does he need?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb Dean, you were _never _dumb. A bit lazy sometimes, or shall I say distracted; but you could always do the work, sometimes you just chose not to."

"I could never scam you, could I Mrs. D?"

"Oh, you tried… in the beginning. You always had charisma; I think you charmed your way through some of your harder classes. Even I was tempted by your ways, but I knew someone had to show you a firm hand, and look how you responded. You were one of my best students ever, a real joy."

"Yeah? You were my favorite teacher. I actually wanted to go to your class, and believe me, that was a new experience."

"Thank you Dean, that means a lot. Now back to my question. What else does your brother want? What does he need?"

_Silence_

"Dean, you know what the answer is, just say it. Pretending it isn't true isn't going to make it go away."

"He wants to leave, _all right?_ He wants to desert his family and go off to college."

"You mean he wants to desert _you_. He wants to leave _you_."

"Yeah, that's what I said."

"Dean, can you let him? Can you give your brother what he wants? Can you give him what he needs?"

"I don't know. I've always tried to give him everything, but…."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Is that what _you want,_ to keep your brother with you? To just this once be selfish and have him stay with you?"

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, I don't want to _make_ him stay. I want him to _want_ to stay…. Oh crap, he hates this life."

"And you love it."

"Yeah…., it makes me feel important. Like what I am and what I do matters."

"So Dean, you love your life?"

"Yeah, I guess I do."

"That's what we needed to know."

"So, that's it? I'm going to live?"

"Yes Dean, you're going to live."

"Mrs. D?"

"Yes."

"I know my mom maybe has released this world and the people she loved, but…. can you tell her I miss her? Tell her I'll always love her."

"She knows, but I'll tell her. You know Dean, she's always with you, safe in your heart."

"Yeah? That's nice. Mrs. D…. You're there too."

"Where Dean?"

"In my heart. I just wanted you to know."

"Thank you Dean. You best get on back to your family now. Sammy's looking mighty concerned. He must love you very much. It must be hard for him to leave you behind."

"Yeah, I guess. I'm gonna miss him."

"I'm going to miss you Dean. You be careful, I don't want to see you again for a very long time. And Dean…."

"Yeah, Mrs. D."

"Sometimes the greatest gift we can give someone is to let them take care of us too. No man is an island, let your family help _you _ sometimes."

"I don't know Mrs. D, that would depend on them noticing I need help."

"Dean try, maybe you could show them."

"Sorry Mrs. D, I don't see that happening any time soon."

"Dean, when the time comes and you need help, _ask_. They _will_ be there for you."

"Sure. Goodbye Mrs. D."

"Goodbye Dean."

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**Tip of the hat to H.T. Marie and her wonderful story Living Out Loud, definitely an influence on this story and an overall inspiration. **


	15. Bermuda Triangle

"**_There's nothing so terrifying in the world as a son. The relation of father and son is the darndest, awkwardest---"_**

**-Thornton Wilder, Our Town**

Chapter Fifteen - Bermuda Triangle

Within hours of Dean realizing he was going to survive, he was also forced to acknowledge his family was not, as all Hell broke loose. Sammy was leaving, John was furious and Dean was again trapped between the two people he loved most in this world. He was once more expected to be mediator and separate the two petulant children who refused to play fair. _Talk about stuck between a rock and a hard place!_

Each expected him to side with them on the side of right, _their right_. Each counted on his undying loyalty and condemnation of the other party's wrongs. Each was unwavering in the certainty they were totally right and their opponent was absolutely wrong. They each presumed he would choose them. _Like Hell!_

He had just been dragged literally from the precipice of death and had spent two weeks recuperating only to be embroiled in another one of their mammoth fights. _Damn, why can't they just leave me out of this for once?_

Once the verdict was in that Dean would survive, the temporary truce between his dad and his brother vanished like the last college virgin on a spring break trip to Rocky Point. Sam's anger at his dad had finally eased his hesitation at revealing his college plans. Of course, tact was not part of the plan when he exposed his secret.

His fury compelled him to barrage his dad with his devastating news in the most spectacular manner. Sam took a certain perverse pleasure in inflicting whatever pain he could on his neglectful and lacking father. He looked at all the pain Dean had gone through and he wanted his dad to suffer likewise, never mind that John _had_ suffered just like Sam in witnessing Dean's agony. Sam in his youth, refused to acknowledge that. _No, Dad needs to pay._

Of course, the real one to suffer was again Dean. He was thrust between the only people he had to love and stand by. For the umpteenth time, the two most important people in his life were at each other's throats, forcing him to again bear witness to their own private war, Dean's own private hell.

He had barely survived his ordeal with the werewolf bite and was still slowly regaining his strength when he was again pulled into another fight. Since returning home, their constant battles over the past week had drained what little energy he had managed to reclaim. His weary mind was desperate for relief. The loud noises and unrest of their fights filled their small house with a constant, devastating sense of dread. _Please, just give me some calm before they start in again…. _

"Might have known you'd leave the first chance you got." John yelled, throwing his beer can across the room, missing the garbage can as it hit the rim and bounced out, rolling across the floor and coming to rest against Dean's foot.

"Why would I want to stay here? You bet I want out." Sam shouted back, his eyes filled with hatred and unbridled fury.

"You always were weak. Should have known you'd quit. You don't have the guts to fight this war. You just gonna run off and live a _normal_ life? You gonna _desert_ your brother when he needs you most?"

"He _needs_ to leave, that's what he needs. You almost killed him. Why won't you let him go before you succeed?"

"He knows the job we have to do. He _knows _what's important. You're the one running away. You're the one who won't accept what we're doing here."

"Yeah, right. We're chasing a demon that hasn't been seen in twenty years. You seek out evil, and you put Dean in danger every time you do. You just can't wait to get yourself killed, and now you want to take your son down with you. I'm _not _going to stay here and watch that."

"That demon _murdered _your mother. That demon is the one you should hate. That _demon _is the reason we live like this."

"Yeah, sure. The demon makes us drive all over the country searching out evil. The demon makes us race into danger and risk our lives every day. Yeah, the _demon _almost got Dean killed. You keep telling yourself that, if that's what it takes to let you sleep."

"Dean can leave any time he wants. I've never forced him to stay and fight with me. Dean? You want to leave with your brother?" John stared at his older son, standing in the shadows silently observing this latest altercation.

"Dean, please come with me. I don't want you to die. You have a second chance now, please Dean. _For me._"

Here it was _again_. They both looked at him, their eyes pleading for his words of support, their hearts certain he would pick them over the other. He was so weary of their struggles, their constant head butting confrontations. He loved his brother above all others and it was his job to protect him. He had been fulfilling that duty since he was four. How could he let his brother go out alone into that cruel world unprotected and vulnerable? How could he surrender his post?

Then he gazed at his dad, so defiant, so impenetrable, so rigid and so God Damn sure of himself and the righteousness of his mission. The truth was Dean still _believed _in the mission, he knew what evil dwelt in the darkness and he knew the horrible things it would do if no one defied it. He realized few believed in the true depths of evil and fewer still would actually take up arms against it. He _knew _ they fought a just and honorable war. _We do make a difference Sammy, even if you refuse to believe it._

He knew his dad would self-destruct without him by his side. He was sure that on his own he would be reckless, rushing headlong into the first dangerous situation that presented itself. He knew without his family to reaffirm his humanity he would have no reason for caution or restraint and would only succeed in getting himself killed on one of his unholy missions. Of that he was certain.

If he could split himself in two he would stand by both his brother and his dad. After all that had been his true purpose all these years, to protect the two people he most loved and treasured, to protect his family. Maybe that _was _the solution, maybe that was what he himself needed. _Oh, if it were only possible…._

The strong, determined and brave Dean would go with Sam to protect and keep him safe as he ventured out into the harsh reality of this world, therefore fulfilling the first obligation of his life. _Protect Sammy._

That left the sensitive, scared four year old child to stay with Dad, to finally seek out his dad's approval and reassurance. Perhaps with Dad's long overdue love and attention he could complete his journey, and shed his childhood trauma and grow into the man he was meant to be. He could at long last fulfill his true potential.

_Then maybe I could relieve that pit that lingers in my gut, that doubt that won't leave me the hell alone, forever reminding me I'm not as confident as I try to make the world and myself believe. Forever reminding me I can't shake that four year old kid as hard as I try._

Once he had accomplished this amazing feat, then at long last the two Deans could once more merge and he would be complete for the first time in his life. The façade he had so carefully crafted over all these years could at last fall away and the real man could emerge. A man not fearful of who he is, a man not scarred from all the pain in his past. A good man, a whole man.

Faced with the harsh reality and unable to accomplish this division, he gazed on his family members who both needed his allegiance and wanted his devotion, and were both adamantly unwilling to share. His mind agonized, conflicted in the knowledge he could not be all things to both of them. He was after all just one man. One tired, torn, emotionally devastated man, still too exhausted from his recent ills to referee their battles any longer.

The choice before him seemed impossible, how could he choose one over the other? His soul was ripped in two, his mind weary once more from the weight of this decision being forced upon him. _Just leave me out of it. Just let me be. _

The tightness in his chest constricted his muscles and made breathing increasingly difficult. He tried to still his anxiety and the panic from not being able to breathe, yet the more he tried the harder it became. Soon, he was gasping for air, his lungs completely cut off from the oxygen supply. His eyes fluttered before rolling back and closing, the black void overtaking him. The dark abyss at last claiming victory as it grabbed him and pulled him under.

He sank into an unconscious state, a peaceful, tranquil place where angry words and slamming doors no longer existed. Serenity wrapped her comforting arms around him and gently rocked him, as his family's turmoil vanished like a ship in the Bermuda Triangle. He felt his body rolling with the waves of the ocean, just floating free without a care in the world, such an unknown sensation, a brand new experience.

After years of upheaval and turmoil he finally had found peace. He realized he had not felt a calm like this since before his mom was taken and he liked this feeling, he reveled in it. It was a pleasant release from the cares and worries of his life, just like he had felt when he had finally let go and accepted his death, all pain washed away.

He drifted free and unencumbered for what seemed an eternity, just floating peacefully atop the waves. His breathing once more easy, his mind uncluttered with concerns and strategies for the battles of this earthly world, all responsibility lifted off his strong yet increasingly weary shoulders.

This was nice. He was finally allowed some peace and quiet, the loud shouts and angry gestures no longer the focus of his attention. He was finally free to ponder pleasant pursuits, finally free to wonder about the beauty he had experienced as the werewolf bite heightened his senses, before he was plunged to near death. The beauty of this world once more a source of comfort and joy.

John panicked as his older son slid down the wall, coming to rest on the floor, his eyes closed, his body just sitting casually against the wall. He half expected another seizure to start racking his son, the stillness and peaceful expression on Dean's face startling him when it appeared as if he was merely sleeping. However, strong arms on his shoulders failed to wake him, and the deathly still that now filled the room unsettled him more.

Sam rushed to his brother's side, worried this was yet another side effect of his recent troubles, concerned he had once more overdone it and relapsed back into his werewolf illness. Sam shook his brother, pleading with him to wake up, to come back to them, to not do this to them again. _Don't do this to me Dean._

_Yeah, here we go again. Everything always comes back to you, doesn't it Sammy? The world revolves around Sam. Can't I just check out for a while? Can't I please just have some time for Dean? I just need this time far from the hurricane, just leave me alone. Let me be. _

Loud voices invaded his peaceful tranquility; rough hands manhandled his body, insistent words pleaded for his return. He fought the voices, not wanting to surrender his calm, not willing to be thrown back into the maelstrom of one more Winchester gale force.

All his attempts to remain free were ultimately in vain, as the pain of his family's struggles once more threatened to overtake him. His respite shortened by their insistent pleas.

Panic again swept over him as he realized he was adrift in the ocean miles from shore, his ship having sailed without him. His feet suddenly heavy like anchors dragging his head beneath the water. He struggled to tread water, the weight of his jeans soaked in salt water pulling him down even further. He was gasping for air, water now filling his lungs. He was drowning, desperately struggling for life once more.

Then he heard the foghorn, loud and obnoxious in his ear, fresh waves splashed against his face from the wake of his ship returning once more to recover the man overboard.

"Son, breathe. Dean, do you hear me?" John's voice was strong and deep. The husky vibrations emitting from his throat rumbling over him like a ship's horn in the deepening fog. Dean gasped as stale air expelled from his lungs and fresh air was pulled in. His eyes opened in the eye of the hurricane. The gale winds temporarily calm, waiting for him to regain his bearings before tossing him back into the category five storm of the Winchester's clash.

"Yeah Dad. I hear you."

_Don't you know, I always hear you. I never had a choice before. It's what I've always done. I'd hear you and I'd obey. I gave you my heart, my soul, my very essence and a part of me died a little every day from my devotion to you and your crusade. I didn't have the luxury of leaving, of living my own life. I've always been the dutiful soldier, ready once more to wage war. _

Dean closed his eyes again and a slight sigh left his lips, as a great weight lifted off his shoulders, his future apparent at last. A faint memory glimmered in his mind, words from a faraway dream suddenly crystal clear in his thoughts.

"_And you love it."_

"_Yeah…., it makes me feel important. Like what I am and what I do matters."_

"_So Dean, you love your life?"_

"_Yeah, I guess I do."_

Finally, his future was set. He now knew _his_ path, _his _choice. _I took the path less traveled by, and that has made all the difference._

_I will continue to wage war, cause now I choose to. This is my calling, this is my destiny and I will follow it. I will fight evil as long as I hold breath. This is **my **war. _

Dean again stepped into formation. His decision clear, his choice made. He was a soldier in a war. A war not of his making, but he had been drafted into it, and henceforth it became _his _war. He had a duty and he had a purpose. He took a certain pride in performing his duty, in doing his job. He once more donned the uniform and mustered out.

"Dean, what happened?" John asked, his voice almost tender, concern registering in his broken words.

"Just overdid it I guess. Room started spinning, guess I should have passed on that beer. I'm all right now. No worries." Dean replied, his confident grin once more in place, again at ease with who he was and where he was headed.

"Dean, you sure?"

"Yeah Dad, never better."

"Dean, won't you come with me? _Please?_" Sam begged once more, desperately searching his brother's face for a sign of encouragement.

Just the knowledge that Sammy wasn't leaving _him_, that his brother wanted him to come too, made his decision slightly easier to bear. His brother and he were just different, and he had to accept that. Sam had his road to travel and he had his own.

"Sorry Sammy, that's a negative. My duty's here. I've got a job to do."

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**_Thank you again for the positive response to this story. It is greatly appreciated. This has probably been my most difficult, yet satisfying writing experience. I truly believe the extra pressure of trying to live up to your expectations elevated my writing and gave me the courage to stretch my skills and strive for more. Thanks to all, B.J._**

_**One final chapter to go. **_


	16. Goodbye

"_**The whole world's wrong, that's what's the matter."**_

**_-Thornton Wilder, Our Town_**

Chapter Sixteen – Goodbye

John and Sam had one last monstrous fight. Angry, cruel, thoughtless words escaped both their mouths as their antagonism escalated. Dean again stayed in the shadows, listening and hurting for his family, once more waiting for the brutal storm to be over, for the bitter silence to again settle over their lives. He had surrendered all reason to their will; he knew no words could temper their hatred and fury. Perhaps one day time would somehow reconcile their differences; but for now, the only thing left was to silently wait for the last angry word.

John managed to have the final say; his last outburst so devastating no response could diffuse it. Sam was at last speechless, words deserted him as John yelled the last hurtful words he would hear from his dad for several years, words that shook the Winchesters to their foundation causing both Sam and Dean to gasp at their intensity and finality. John himself seemingly shocked at what he had shouted in anger, yet stubbornly refusing to back down from the intent.

"If you're so hell bent on leaving then you better just stay gone. This ain't no life where you can come back for Christmas vacation. Once you walk out that door, don't plan on coming back. You walk out that door and you're gone."

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Sam packed his bags and was at last ready to leave; when push came to shove, he had done what he said he would do. John stood sullenly in the deepening shadow, watching his world walk out his front door. Dean picked up Sam's bags and carried them out to the Impala as his brother grabbed the last of his things, silently glancing one last time at his dad who never wavered or relented, letting his youngest walk out of his life without a final farewell.

Dean started the Impala's engine and waited; Sam appeared moments later slamming the front door and purposely walking out to the car. He roughly threw his backpack in the back seat and plopped into the passenger seat, slamming the car door as a grunt escaped his lips. Dean started to yell to watch the door, to protect his girl, before the words stuck in his throat. _Doesn't matter._

They silently drove to the bus terminal, neither willing to utter the words that would shatter their stony demeanor and expose their fragile hearts. Dean feared if he let his guard down for one second, he would dissolve into a blathering idiot and say something stupid like 'Don't go'. He had made up his mind to give his brother what he needed and he had to remain steadfast, he _had_ to stay strong.

Dean parked the car in the first space in the row next to where the buses load. It was a small terminal, really just a way station. Small towns like theirs didn't warrant a big, fancy terminal. Not many people rode the bus anymore, particularly cross-country. Sam started to open the door to get out when his brother's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Sammy, wait."

Sam paused, his stomach churning, anxious for the words Dean would say, his heart waiting for his brother to ask him one last time to reconsider, his response ready on his lips. _Just ask me Dean, just ask._

"Yeah, Dean."

"Here Sammy." Dean discreetly handed his brother a wad of cash folded over in half with a rubber band around it.

"What? What the heck Dean?"

_He didn't ask. Why didn't he ask? I know he wants to, I can see it in his eyes. Oh God, he's letting me go…, he's letting me go! He's giving me permission, his blessing. Oh God…, thank you Dean._

Sam just sat there with the money gripped in his hand, staring at his brother, _seeing _him for the first time and possibly the last.

"Sammy, _hello?_ You wanna put that away before you get mugged?" Dean waved his hand in front of his brother's dazed eyes, again gaining his rapt attention.

"What? Geez Dean, how much is here?"

"Just put it away. Can I trust you not to be a total bumpkin and go flashing that kind of money around? You know California ain't no place for country boys. You're not gonna be in Kansas anymore Toto."

"Dean, we haven't been in Kansas in awhile."

"Yeah, I know.… Uh, that was a reference to that classic movie, you know…, the one with the wicked witch and those red shoes, what was it again…? Oh yeah…, the Wizard of Id." Dean tried his best to give his lopsided wicked grin. Wry humor was easier to handle than raw grief.

"_Oz,_ The Wizard of _Oz_."

"Yeah, _whatever._"

"_Yeah_… And here I thought you were gonna add a new band to your playlist…. Dean, _seriously_, how much is here?"

"Fifteen hundred."

"What? I can't take this."

"Why not? It's only money. You're gonna need some spending cash."

"And how long did you have to hustle pool to get this?"

"I'm good, remember? Besides, I _like_ my job. I can always get more. Not a problem, besides you'll need it more than me. Living ain't cheap, especially in LaLaLand. I hear avocados are two bucks a piece…. And I know how you _love_ your guacamole." Dean grinned again, a forced smile but it was better than the alternative.

"Dean…."

"Just take the money. I want you to have it, and here.…" Dean handed over a brand new credit card, a card with the name Sam Winchester.

"Dean, _no_. I told you, I'm done with that lifestyle. I'm not going to risk my scholarship with a credit card scam."

"No scam, Sam!" Dean gave a puzzled look at his inadvertent rhyme before continuing, "Look, it's legit, got your name and everything. Take it, just for emergencies. If you need it use it. I'll pay the bill, I _promise_….Scout's Honor."

Dean held up two fingers in a mock Boy Scout pledge, his face looking young and vulnerable like a child's once more, no longer the hardened hunter, more like a little boy watching his only friend move away. Sam felt a grin on his face at the absurdity of this moment, before the hitch tried to rise up in his throat. He buried his thoughts and went with the light mood Dean was trying so hard to maintain. _OK Dean, I'll try to play this out your way. I know…, no Chick Flick Moments._

"You are definitely _not_ a boy scout, Dean. Never were. I think they would have bounced you at the first meeting…. So.…you actually _legitimately_ got a credit card?"

"Define legit…, look maybe I had to stretch the truth a tad on the application. I mean line of work _had_ to be a trick question and years of experience, well.… experience at _what_? And prior credit history? Rather not go _there_; well anyway, you get the point. But yeah, that card is legit as any I've seen. Just take it; you always need a backup plan."

"Yeah, Dad taught us that, right?"

"Yeah."

Sam started to tear up, his gaze steady on his brother, making Dean increasingly nervous. Dean had seen those puppy dog eyes before and they didn't bode well. He could see the writing on the wall.

"Dean…."

"Sammy _stop_. No chick flick moments, remember?" Dean choked out, trying to calm the panic that was threatening to overtake his tough façade. _I just gotta make it a few more minutes; I can't break down now. Not in front of Sammy, not yet._

Sam steadied his quivering lip and blinked the tears away, and with one last sigh he exited the Impala as Dean quietly watched him. Dean drew in a calming breath and threw the door open, stepping out.

They crossed the parking lot to the terminal and Sam went to the counter to purchase his ticket before returning to sit in the worn chair next to where his brother had deposited his bags.

They sat at the terminal, neither speaking, silently watching the people pass by. Sam noticed Dean wasn't even looking at the two cute girls who kept walking by and smiling at the handsome young man. Dean was mostly looking at his shoes, with the dried mud covering the worn toes, and studying the tiles on the floor, badly in need of another coat of wax; anything to keep his mind from thinking of his brother there beside him for possibly the last time.

The bus pulled into the station and they announced they were boarding. Sam reluctantly stood up, wondering how he could ever leave Dean who had given so much for him. He started to waver, momentarily thinking this was all a mistake; he couldn't possibly leave his brother, not like this, and then suddenly Dean spoke.

"OK then. You take care little brother." Dean offered his best effort at a smile as he reached out his hand for a final handshake.

Sam grasped his hand in a firm grip before pulling his brother in for an impulsive hug. The brothers stood there, arms wrapped around each other in a tight embrace with neither willing to let go. All the years of love distilled down to this one great moment with both desperate to hold onto their other half as long as possible.

The voice on the PA announced last call for California and it was Dean who pushed his brother away with a last slap on his back before placing both hands in firm grips on his brother's arms and sizing him up for a final goodbye.

"You better go man. Don't wanna miss your bus. I ain't driving you all the way to California." Dean cracked.

"Dean, stay safe. Take care of Dad." Sam softly whispered.

"Yeah, got it."

Sam took one last look at his brother, trying to memorize every feature of his face, every movement that was Dean, every smartass remark and cocky grin. He knew he needed to make a clean break. He knew Dean was deadly serious about always putting his brother's life above his own. He could still hear the words echoing in his head, 'If it comes to a choice, it's always gonna be you bro. I want you to live.'

_Damn it Dean, I want **you** to live._

Dean had admitted he was willing to sacrifice his own life for his younger brother and even more disturbing, he would do it again, in a heartbeat. Sam shuddered at the thought. _So Dean, you think I could live with that? Knowing you died to protect me? _

He was so conflicted. He really needed to live a normal life, to escape this vengeance Dad had forced upon them, yet he couldn't bear the thought of leaving his brother. Especially leaving his brother alone with Dad, but if he stayed Dean would keep putting his own life in danger to protect his baby brother.

_Dean, I haven't been a baby in years and I don't need you protecting me. You're not responsible for me regardless of whatever twisted guilt trip Dad has put on you. Why can't you see that? Why can't you treat me like an equal? Why can't you value your own life? _

When forced to make a choice, Dean had chosen Dad and that broke Sam's heart. He just couldn't understand the workings of his brother's brain. He wasn't angry with him, more disappointed, shattered actually. His family was falling apart, he was losing his brother and he didn't see a way out. If he didn't sever his ties with Dean, his brother would continue putting himself in harm's way. If he was determined to stay with Dad and be a hunter he needed to focus on _that _ if he was to stay alive.

The main lesson he _had _learned from Dad's obsession was to be focused, to concentrate on the job at hand. If Dean was going to do this, he needed his mind on the hunt. He couldn't be worrying and fretting about kid brother. If he was going to be a hunter he couldn't be half-assed about it. The job demanded his full attention, and that was the rub. If Sam stuck around, Dean would always have one eye on him, would always be distracted. For a hunter, that could be a fatal mistake.

He was a liability to his brother; that was the plain, unadulterated truth. Dean's recent close encounter with the reaper had made that painfully clear.

Sam suddenly realized he was trying to play the big brother here. He was trying to fulfill Dean's function that his older, more experienced brother had perfected over all these years. For the first time in his life, he was trying to protect big brother, trying to keep _him_ safe. He was the one preparing to sacrifice their relationship to save his brother's life. _Damn, this is hard._

_How do you do it Dean? How did you manage it all those years? Have I ever shown you how much I appreciate all you've done for me? I do, ya know? I guess the only way to show you is to let you go. Let you be the hunter you are so bound and determined to be, and pray Dad doesn't succeed in getting you killed. _

_Goodbye Dean._

With a heart beaten down as if all the cows in Texas were trampling on it, Sam bid his brother goodbye. He got on the bus and watched the Impala and its bold knight in armor of leather and faded denim disappear into miniscule specks in the distance.

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Dean stood by the Impala watching as the bus pulled out of the station and drove off down the road. He was still standing there ten minutes later, tears building in his eyes until there was no place else for them to go but escape down his cheeks and onto the collar of his faded denim shirt.

He brushed the tears from his face with a quick swipe of his hand. He rubbed his red eyes with the palms of his hands and tried to focus his mind on the job before him. He had lost his brother, but he still had a cause, he still had a purpose. The only thing left was to concentrate on that, focus on this war with evil.

He was finally forced to make a choice and so he had. In the final analysis he had not chosen his brother or his dad, he had chosen the life he would live, and he chose the life he loved. He _chose_ to remain a hunter, and he _chose_ to fight evil with every breath he possessed. It was a noble profession and it was his calling.

The life he would lead was dirty and dangerous and unheralded. He received no reward or payment or recognition, save the few words of thanks from the people they saved, yet he found satisfaction in it. It fulfilled a need that had grown unfettered since he was a young child of four: the need to protect, the need to stand for something, the need to fight back against evil.

His work made him feel he mattered, made his life however broken or twisted seem important. It gave him a purpose and gave his life value. It transformed him into a man of worth.

He had witnessed firsthand evil's wrath on the unfortunate and weak and he was determined to stand up and fight it with every ounce of courage he could muster. _This is **my** fight._

He could not take refuge in a normal life until all evil was vanquished from this world. If he had left with his brother for the comfort of a normal life, it would have been a farce, a giant lie to himself. He knew he could never escape the realities of this evil world, he had seen too much to ever retreat from the truth. He could not pretend to be normal or innocent; Dean Winchester had left all innocence behind when he witnessed his mother's fiery death and his father's descent into raging vengeance.

After years of study under the tutelage of his dad, he had learned to stifle his feelings and bury his pain, but he could not ignore the truth or hide from evil. His rose colored glasses were permanently broken; he saw the world as it truly existed and he stood firm in his resolve to fight the evil that preyed there.

He was one of the few who stood between evil and the innocents, who stood ready to do battle. He was ready to wage war until evil ran screaming for protection from him and others like him. _This is **my **war._

Under the emotional duress of this parting he had assured his little brother they would stay in touch. The wonders of cell phones and email making it seem as if they were just minutes away instead of miles and worlds apart. Still he knew promises made in times of stress rarely hold true.

Sammy wanted a normal life and once he got it, his old life would seem all the more distant. Dean felt himself disappearing in his brother's eyes; he felt the gulf between them widening into the Pacific Ocean. He sensed once Sam got what he wanted, he would forget what he most didn't want.

_Sammy, remember me. When you get where you want to be and find I no longer belong in your new life, at least remember me, cause you'll always be the center of my life, wherever you are._

Dean offered his final sacrifice to Sammy, the gift of freedom. With a heavy heart he relinquished the baby he had held so tenderly during his first hours of life, he released the boy he had protected and comforted and loved above all others during a time when it seemed it was just the two of them facing the world alone, and he watched the man he had helped shape and mentor step from the shadows into his own light, becoming his own person, an independent man venturing out on his own down his own path.

_Goodbye Sammy._

The pain in his gut was worse than all the shots he had endured in his treatment for the werewolf bite. He knew he had to let Sammy go to follow his dream, but his gut still longed for his brother by his side. He watched the bus slowly fade out of sight, as Sam embarked on his new life, a life without his protector, a life without his brother.

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John sat on the front porch considering the events of the last few weeks. He had been forced to confront his worst fears head on about losing one of his sons and had barely managed to avoid disaster. He had charged to the precipice of that black abyss and yanked his oldest back from the brink of death only to lose sight and grasp of his youngest. He had managed to save one son, only to lose the other.

He had seen the anguish in Sam's eyes at the prospect of leaving, though he knew there was no regret over leaving him; he knew Sam couldn't wait to be beyond his dad's reach. No, he had watched the hesitation only in connection with leaving his brother. If he had done one thing right in raising his boys it would have to be the close bond they shared.

Truth was, he wasn't sure he could take credit for that, but he knew it was real. His boys would die for each other, Dean had just proven that. Somehow he knew regardless of how much Sam wanted to leave this life; he would have stayed for his brother, if only Dean had asked. Silently he wondered why he hadn't. After all, he could also see the anguish in Dean's eyes at losing his brother, at seeing his family ripped apart. _Damn, how did we get so fucked up?_

He shuddered to think of his youngest out there alone, unprotected, susceptible to all the evil that existed in this world and was just laying in wait to consume him. His gut tightened as he contemplated all the dangers that could imperil his son.

He knew he had trained Sam to be an able soldier. His son possessed all the skills to successfully fight evil, still he didn't believe in the inevitability of the battle; he still foolishly thought he could escape his destiny. His denial and belief he could outrun evil were disturbing and dangerous.

Then there was always the nagging realization that evil was seeking out Sam for some unknown purpose. The Demon had been at Sam's crib that night and John knew deep in his gut there was a reason for that, that Sammy was special, desired by this demon. _I've never been able to figure out why. I've just always known Sammy was the trigger that sent us down this road._

John wrestled with his tremendous guilt over Dean's werewolf encounter. Sam was dead wrong about him sacrificing Dean's life in his thirst for revenge, but he _had _almost traded one son's life for the other. He _had _almost witnessed the ultimate sacrifice of his older because he was so conditioned to protect the younger.

John knew he was responsible for Dean's actions since he'd drilled him his entire life to protect his younger brother, to protect Sammy. Back when this all started Sammy was just a baby, innocent and defenseless, and needed protecting. It had only felt natural to reinforce Dean's own protective instincts and it gave Dean an outlet for his fear and anger. He could focus all his emotions and thoughts into one simple purpose: protect Sammy. _How could I know how this would all turn out?_

_Damn, which son do I protect now? What kind of a choice is this? How do I protect them both? _

John worried if Sam did stay, it would only get him killed. If his heart wasn't in it, if his dreams lay elsewhere, then he wasn't ready for the fight. In their line of work, you had to be fully committed. If Sam wasn't cut out for this life, if he was going to cut and run the first chance he got, then John needed to know now. He knew he couldn't force Sam to want to be here with his family fighting this war with evil, so he did the only thing he could do and let him go.

_Hell, I didn't just let him go, I pushed him away…, for his own good. Perhaps he can get lost out there in California, hide in plain sight from the evil that is stalking him. Maybe Dean and I can be enough of a pain in the ass that evil won't have time to seek out Sammy. Maybe._

Damn, how were they going to continue on from here? They were family, they needed to stay together. Evil was out there, laying in wait for them and now Sammy was going to be vulnerable, susceptible to all the evil lurking out in that big, bad world looking for ways to endanger the Winchesters.

Dean understood. Dean had _always_ understood. Why couldn't Sammy? How had he failed to convey that simple lesson? How had he failed to protect his youngest, the one evil wanted most? Dean was a warrior and a protector and he no longer had his charge to protect.

He worried his sons would never again reforge their bond that was severed today. Time and distance weaken even the strongest bonds and the longer his boys were separated the further apart they would grow. Would they ever be able to regain their strong relationship? Would they ever be as close again? _Will we ever be a family again?_

Dean returned from the bus terminal and didn't utter a word except to confirm Sam had made it on the bus and was on his way to his new life.

He glanced at his oldest. Dean looked lost. A man lost without direction, a soldier without a mission. He once more looked like that scared four year old boy who shivered in the cold and dark yearning for his mom, asking with pleading eyes for his mom's warm embrace to shield him from the coming storm. Dean had grown and matured into a brave, valiant warrior and now he was again lost without the purpose to fuel his passion. _I can't stand seeing him like this again, looking into those deep, soulful eyes filled with such pain._

John tried to be matter of fact, emotionless as he addressed his son.

"You give Sammy the thousand bucks and the credit card?"

"Yeah."

Dean had added all he had, a measly five hundred dollars. _It would have been more if I'd been well enough to hit the pool halls…. It should have been more, if I'd just had more time..._

"Dean, we have to let him go. He's of age….if I tried to force him to stay….truth is, he does the opposite of what I say just to spite me….Dean, if he truly doesn't want to be here then…. maybe, this is for the best."

"I know."

The silence between them hung in the air, a deathly still of what was to come, the promise of the emptiness their lives would now be consumed with.

"He would have stayed….if you'd asked him." John stated.

"I know."

A large part of him wished Dean _had _begged his brother to stay, at least then they would still be a family, united in this war. Still, if Sam was bound and determined to not to be a part of this fight, perhaps it _was_ best to let him go. If he wasn't willing to commit to this battle, if he couldn't see the necessity of this fight, then maybe he _was _a liability. A hindrance that in the next fight might prove to get him killed or succeed in getting his brother killed trying to protect him. John had always thought he knew the right course of action, had always felt confident in the fight, and now he just didn't know anymore.

_I want both my sons close to me so I can protect them, so I can know they're safe each night, but maybe Sam is safer elsewhere, far from this battle he so desperately wants to avoid, far from this war he refuses to acknowledge. _

"Why didn't you ask him?" John's voice was low, barely audible.

Dean looked at his dad, mulling over his response, reconsidering himself all the reasons and explanations. It all boiled down to one simple truth.

"Like you said Dad, if he doesn't want to be here….if he hates this life so much. He deserves a chance. He deserves his dreams."

Dean was once more doing what he does best, providing everything his younger brother needed or desired. Taking care of his wants and again neglecting his own. Maybe it was time to consider what Dean needed, what Dean wanted. John hesitated, unsure whether he could face the answer, yet knowing he had to ask the question. This was a time for harsh reflection on their lives and he needed to know for sure just where they stood. For the first time in his life he prepared to ask Dean what _he_ desired.

"What about you Dean? Do _you _have dreams? Do you _want_ to be here?" John couldn't believe he had actually voiced his concerns. He had actually cracked open that door, given Dean the opportunity to back away, given him an out.

Dean looked into his dad's eyes, surprised by the question. Comforted by the intent, strangely no longer feeling pressure to answer the expected response, feeling for once his dad truly wanted to know. John looked uneasy, almost like he wished he could take back his inquiry, anxious for his son's response. _No need to worry Dad. _

"Dad, I'm here for the long haul. I know the job that needs done. I've got no where else to be."

Relief at having his son with him was tempered by the bitter knowledge of everything Dean would give up in pursuit of this fight. All the pleasures of a normal life would pass him by as he embraced the dark life of a hunter. John again cursed the fates that robbed his son of his childhood and now stood ready to rob him of his future.

John could not see the end of this road, he couldn't predict the outcome or how long their trek would last. He knew Sam was in danger pretending life could be normal and he could escape his destiny, yet Dean was also in danger, embracing the life and battles of a hunter.

All he knew with certainty was he had prepared his sons the best he could. They were warriors and he just had to hold firm that they would prevail on whatever course their lives took. Danger laid in wait regardless of which path the Winchesters took. The only thing he knew with certainty was this battle was inevitable.

"Sammy will be all right. He's got the training. He knows how to stay safe."

"You believe that Dad?" Dean turned and gazed intently into his dad's eyes, searching out whatever comfort he could find there.

John hesitated, unsure of what to say. Lies or the truth? He had a hard time telling the difference sometimes. _I don't know if I believe it, but Dean needs to hear it. Hell, I need to hear it._

"Yeah, I do."

"You know…, I miss him already."

"Yeah."

Dean looked at his dad, studying the hopeless emptiness in the vast depths of his brown eyes, seeing the deepening lines of worry already marring his stalwart face, wondering how Sammy could fail to see the love there. He was the first to admit, Dad could be difficult, demanding, and so God Damn obstinate, but damn it Sammy, you're just like him, just a mirror image. Maybe _that_ was the problem, you were both too damn stubborn, too determined to be right, even when you were _so _wrong.

He had thought the pain of their constant battles was bad, but that was nothing compared to the silence that now filled their empty house. The vacuous stillness of their house, of their lives, cast an eerie shadow that was stifling, bearing down upon him like a tidal wave poised to wash him back out to sea. His own pain at losing his brother matched only by the pain he saw his dad trying to shield him from.

This was just like Mom dying all over again, only Mom didn't choose to leave, Mom was taken away. He had tried his best to understand and give his brother what he wanted, what he needed, but it didn't lessen his pain. His pain hung on for dear life, a great weight bearing down and crushing him, leaving an ever deepening hole in his life. _Damn, get a hold here Dean; just take it one day at a time…. Hell, you better settle for one minute at a time._

"The lease is up on the house at the end of the month, you want me to renew it?" John asked his distracted son.

"Huh?"

"Dean, you want to keep the house?"

"Why? What's the point? Let's hit the road Dad. Time to focus on hunting. Motels will do. Everything we need is in the Impala." Dean replied. _Everything except Sammy._

"Yeah."

"Dad? What is it?"

John looked away from his son, not wanting the tears forming in his eyes to betray the anguish he was feeling. He knew his older son was facing his own pain and loss and he saw no reason to reveal his. Besides, he knew Dean would only try to take on his pain too.

Dean was just like Mary, always more concerned for everyone else's welfare than his own. John knew if they were going to get through this they just needed to bury all their pain and move forward. As long as they focused on fighting evil, maybe they could both ignore the hole in their lives.

_I hope we can go on from here. I pray Sammy will be safe. He can't be half in and half out of this war, that would only get him killed. If he has to leave then I need to keep him as far away from this fight as possible to keep him safe. God, I owe you one for Dean, but I'm gonna stretch my luck here and ask you to keep Sammy safe. Last request, I promise. _

_Goodbye son._

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One endless empty night in that house was all either remaining Winchester could stand. The silence was deafening, with neither in the mood to discuss their pain or grief. The forlorn hollow house had ceased being a home and now merely sheltered two stoic Winchesters doing what they do best, burying their despair and ignoring their pain. _Hell, if we don't talk about it then maybe it will all just go away._

"So Dad, where we headed?" Dean asked, knowing the sooner they got their minds off of Sammy leaving, the sooner he could pretend he was all right. He always felt better when he was engaged in a fight. _Maybe I can take my frustrations out on some evil sons of bitches!_

Momentarily distracted from his own pain, John smiled; he knew without question what Dean was thinking. _Yeah, let's kill us some evil bastards._

He had a new job for them all lined up, some unfinished business. There was at least one wounded werewolf three hours upstate that needed vanquished, one particular werewolf that simply had to die.

The End

All standard disclaimers apply. bjxmas October, 2006

**_Ok, that's it. Now's the time to let me know what you think. Did I make sense of all the Winchester's angst and turmoil? Did I give them all sufficient reasons for how they behaved? Or should I forget this foolishness and stick to my day job? All comments welcome. Thanks to all the many previous reviewers; each and every review was greatly appreciated. This has been a great experience. Thank you, B. J._**


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